Like Father Like Son
by Batmanskipper
Summary: Six years later, Skipper claims he is at rest with his family's notorious past. However, when his team is assigned the same mission that ruined the first Penguins, the past decides it doesn't want to stay buried. And on top of that, Skipper has fallen in love with a woman, who by disturbing coincidence, is named Marlene. Is Skipper doomed to repeat his father's mistakes?
1. Operation: Join and Destroy II

**This is the sequel to Do You Really Want to Know. It follows the rewritten date structure thus Operation: Join and Destroy started 1949/1950, Private (this Skipper) was born in 1952 and confronted Kowalski (the first Kowalski) in 1969. **

**November 3****rd**** 1975**

In the last few seconds before you die, your life's supposed to flash before your eyes, every last horrible and wonderful thing you've ever done. Me, well, I've got about half an hour to go, and I'm doing it on purpose to try to come to terms with just how the hell I got into this mess. It's not like I've got anything less depressing think about.

The overview of my predicament is this: I'm stuck in an air pocket fifteen meters underground, in which water is steadily rising from a burst pipe under a grate in what was once a floor. The walls and ceiling are made up of who knows how many feet of solid rubble that could collapse any minute. Above that, another sixty stories of sky scraper. Sounds like something from a movie, at least, that's what Private would say.

Alright, I'd say about two months ago would be roughly around when everything started to go south.

* * *

**September 3****rd**** 1975**

"Boys, Operation: Simple Extraction, and I emphasise _simple _extraction, was a disaster." Skipper scolded, pacing in front of a blackboard in the main room of the HQ.

"Well, not entirely," Kowalski protested weakly, "we did complete the mission objective."

"The objective was to extract the agent whose cover had been blown," Skipper snapped, "not get one of our own captured, an you all know how much I hate letting the target get away."

"But the agent is safe." Private pointed out.

"It failed, Private, no amount of lunacorn fairy dust changes that," Skipper replied in a slightly gentler tone, then his attention returned to the rest of the group, "Lucky for you I don't leave my men behind, no matter what the cost, or Rico would be at the bottom of the Hudson," Skipper returned to his place at the front of the room, sitting down on the desk, "And now I have to explain to Special Agent Jones that we do, in fact, negotiate with hostage takers." Kowalski, Skipper's second in command ever since the two had met back in 'Nam, grimaced. That really wouldn't be pretty.

"Sorry sir, I shouldn't have hesitated when I did." Kowalski muttered.

"Y' think?" Skipper scoffed, "anyway, moving on, we have a new mission in which we will hopefully be able to prove we can accomplish something," the commander stood up from the desk, "It will be in the same format as Operation: Join and Destroy. At 0800 tomorrow we fly to Chicago. We are a group of contract killers, working on a single job, which will hopefully get us into the mysterious Delaunay family. From there we will shut it down."

"Skipper, we won't hold it against you if you refuse the mission…" Kowalski began to suggest.

"I've already accepted it," Skipper replied crisply. He didn't like it when people suggested he was weak, "The other part of the mission, is to discover what happened to the two agents who were first assigned this same mission, and haven't been heard of since, namely Manfredi and Johnson.

"But Skipper," Kowalski continued to question, "How do we get into the Delaunay family? Even Jones doesn't have any contacts in them; we don't even know who runs them."

"That's why I was picked, Kowalski," Skipper replied, "I've got contacts in them," then noticing his lieutenant's baffled expression continued: "Penguin, Kowalski. I had to shut it all down remember? And the one thing we do know is the Delaunays had some kind of link to the Penguins. Ok, dismissed." The team filed out of the briefing room, muttering uncomfortably.

* * *

"_…Finally the most recent of America's great criminal masterminds is Peter Kowalski, who held the city in an iron grip for almost twenty years, after taking over the Grant empire after Blake Grant's fatal car accident, though many historians claim that he was the mastermind behind the empire even prior to…_"

"Isn't there a lunicorn marathon on or something?" Skipper asked. Private nodded. Rico had left it on this channel after he'd seen an explosion or two in the beginning, but walked off as he'd gotten bored. Due to Kowalski's 'improvements' he had absolutely no idea how to change the channel himself. Still, it beat staring at a wall.

"Yes, but it's not on for another fifteen minutes."

_"…To this day there still isn't enough evidence to convict him of anything more than a parking ticket, as in 1958 he was given a full pardon for his criminal activities under the late Blake Grant, claiming that he was under the impression he was part of an undercover mission, and though the infamous Penguins continued to operate…_"

"Technically that would be slander to call him a criminal mastermind if you can't prove anything more than a parking ticket." The team's resident scientist commented from the makeshift lab.

"'ee no exactly aroun' no more oo figh' it." Rico replied. Skipper had no idea what they could do in an empty lab, all the equipment had already been shipped out to Chicago, though if it had anything to do with the contents of Rico's backpack, he didn't really want to know.

_ "…he was betrayed by his playboy/Colombia University student ward, William Grant, the son of Blake Grant, who recorded a complete confession of every criminal deed, and after a two minute fire fight with the NYPD Kowalski disappeared and has never been seen since…_"

"Was that you, Skippah?" Private asked, "I didn't know you went to university."

"Three weeks doesn't count." Skipper replied, changing the channel. It was his turn now, anyway.

"…Adequate science in the education system is absolutely vital to a balanced curriculum!" Kowalski argued.

"Wha' oo suggest' ain' balanced!" Rico answered heatedly. Kowalski really must have been bored if he was resorting to arguing with Rico, which was a less than safe thing to do.

"Skippah?"

"Yes Private?"

"Do you ever, you know, wonder where he went?" Private asked, slightly nervously.

"If I remember the wounds correctly, there was almost no way he'd make it five blocks, but then you never know with my family," Skipper sighed wearily, "I don't really think about them a lot. They were different people, and thankfully, none of them are in any position to come back and haunt me. Even if I somehow got mixed up in it again, I'm happy to leave the past behind me and deal with it like any other mission."

"But aren't you… Angry that you never met your…"

"Yeah, I guess. People have told me and my dad would have gotten on well, apart from his being…" Skipper could see Private tense slightly, "Don't worry I'm not going to become a revenge driven maniac like Blowhole. Sure, I'm upset, but when you think about it, he had it coming to him. More than that."

* * *

**September 4****th**** 1975**

"Real name please, _Diego Garcia_," the interviewer, who'd introduced himself as Barry Malone, an annoying little man with greying red hair prompted. However, as Skipper opened his mouth to speak, it was obvious he was going to say something along the lines of 'I have no idea what you're talking about', so the interviewer continued, "It's Will Grant, isn't it." There was a cocky smile on the man's face that skipper didn't like, and well, neither did most people.

"Alright, so it is," Skipper replied, "don't people have the right to change their names?"

"You seem unusually calm, despite so damning an admission?"

"What's so damning about it?" Skipper replied, mimicking Barry's smirk. Barry scowled. He apparently didn't like his own attitude thrown back at him.

"A certain incident at the Copacabana in '69," Barry replied, "I don't know how things are done in New York these days, but we tend to try to avoid hiring undercover police officers around here."

"I handed Kowalski over to the police," Skipper replied, "Because it was a whole lot cleaner to let them do my dirty work, and outright encourage my taking over the Penguins because they thought I was with them, than kill Kowalski myself and deal with a lot of revenges."

"But there seems to be a distinct lack of Penguins around, for your story to be true."

"Really Barry?" Skipper scoffed, "I thought you had better intel than that. I learned from Kowalski's mistakes, I wasn't just going to outright flaunt my power and influence. No, I made the police think I shut it down, keeping it all underground while they ran around chasing my competitors."

"Indeed," Barry muttered. It was true, after the Penguins had disappeared, and he'd jumped ship, no other gang stepped up to take their place, but crime went up. They'd always assumed it was a new player they'd dubbed the 'Sewer Rats', but it made sense for it to merely be the Penguins under a different name, "then why are you hiring out your team as contract killers?"

"Can you think of a better way to show less than hostile intentions? Uncle Kowalski may have ruined your extremely profitable relationship, but I'm willing to rekindle it."

"I'd have thought you'd be the last person to consider that."

"Money speaks louder than loyalty in this generation."

"Alright then, I suppose you have the job," Barry replied reluctantly, after looking up at one of the upper windows where he'd received some kind of signal. He then handed the team a large manila envelope, "You're target is a Rhonda Vreeland, better known in our circles as Agent 12…"

* * *

"'A went 'ell." Rico commented as the team exited the office building.

"We passed the first interview," Skipper admitted, "Our performance with Rhonda is our real test, though."

"What do you think happened to Manfredi and Johnson, Skippah?" Private asked.

"Not so loud, Private," Skipper reminded the rookie, "Anyway, lesson number one on investigations: don't make up any hypothesisis…"

"Hypothisi."

"Hypothesises, actually," Kowalski corrected smugly.

"Hypotho whatever, don't try and come up with a theory till you've got some decent facts. Otherwise you might as well pull random solutions out of a hat you'll be so…" Suddenly Skipper rushed forward, pulling a very confused looking young lady who'd just stepped out into the path of a car, her head buried in a map, back onto the sidewalk, "Careful, doll." Skipper half scolded, as she stumbled back onto the pavement.

The woman, about in her early twenties, possibly even Skipper's age, looked like she was about to faint. She was wearing jeans and a brown cardigan that matched her chocolate coloured hair; light clothing despite the fact an evening chill was starting to set in.

"Thanks," She stuttered, "Sorry, I'm kinda new 'round here."

"The first day in a big city is always quite overwhelming." Private reassured with one of his classic smiles. The woman smiled back.

"Well, thanks." She started walking, then, remembered she was still unsure of where she was going, and stopped to look at the gigantic map.

"You're holding that upside down." Skipper pointed out, walking over and turning it right side up.

"Thanks," She still seemed to be struggling to read the map.

"Where're you trying to find?" Skipper asked.

"Well, my friend, who I'm staying with, she marked the apartment on the map," The woman pointed to a black dot in a residential neighbourhood, "For the life of me I can't work out where it is."

"Alright, so you're going to go along this road, the one you're on, till you get to here," Skipper pointed down the street, trying to speak as clearly as possible, "then you're going to turn left, then keep going three blocks and…"

"Can you repeat that last part, I kinda missed…?"

"Head back to the HQ, boys," Skipper told his team, "I'll take the lady home, it's not far."

* * *

"This looks like it," The woman stated, looking up at the building, "thanks for, well, saving my life, um..."

"Tony," Skipper answered, instantly regretting his choice of name, "Tony Knight."

"Well, thanks for saving me, Tony."

"Don't mention it," Skipper replied, neglecting to mention it was his job. Their eye met for a split second and Skipper blushed slightly. He hadn't felt anything remotely similar since he'd met Cupid back when he was a kid, "I didn't catch your name…"

"Marlene, Marlene Adler," Skipper noticeably blanched at the name, "Is something wrong?"

"No nothing. Glad I could help out." Skipper set off down the road in the direction of the HQ.

"Hey, um Tony?" Skipper turned around, "I was wondering, there' a film on tomorrow night, probably wouldn't be your kind of thing, but I was wondering if you'd help me find my way there?"

"I…" Skipper paused, "Sorry, that's pretty much the one night I'll be working late." He once again started off down the street, though it was sorely tempting to turn around and say the meeting wouldn't be hard reschedule. In fact, only a few steps further along, he did turn around to do just that, only to find himself alone on the sidewalk.

* * *

"… _And for tonight's news, two undercover police officers were found dead in a day spa_…"

"Manfredi and…" Private gasped before Skipper could cover the team's youngest member's eyes.

"What a hideously un-gruesome way to go…" Skipper muttered, switching off the TV, before grabbing his coat.

"Is it alright to open my eyes now, Skippah?" Private asked, noticing the disappearance of Skipper's hands.

"Yeah," Skipper replied, still stunned by the news, "Go tell Kowalski we've found Manfredi and Johnson."


	2. Manfredi and Johnson

**Just to clear things up, the first Kowalski didn't become Blowhole. He's still missing, believed dead. So is Rico. The Blowhole in this story is the first Blowhole's spoiled son Francis, Doris' younger brother. **

**Jones is the first Private**

**Skipper is the second Private (Private in flashbacks)**

**This chapter will have a lot of flashbacks just to cover the gap between where the previous story left off and this one starts. **

**September 5th 1975**

"Talk to me, Kowalski." Skipper ordered, looking down at the bodies of Manfredi and Johnson. The looked strangely peaceful, which only added more to the morbid effect.

"It would seem they were given suxamethonium chloride, a depolarizing neuromuscular blocker," Kowalski reported, "which triggered a fatal attack of malignant hyperthermia…"

"Parlez-vous Anglais?" Skipper interrupted sarcastically, "Some of us aren't fluent in whatever it is you're speaking."

"Somebody gave them a very powerful muscle relaxant normally used during surgery that they had a bad reaction to," Kowalski explained, "Still, who would be able to get their hands on…?"

"Anything else?"

"Well, they found a note in Manfredi's hand," Kowalski handed Skipper a small piece of paper, on which were the words: Idehay ethay ootlay, Ivatepray, Aptaincay Eepycray's omincay' inway TAY-inusmay alfhay anway ourhay in thick black ink. Immediately Skipper turned away from the group, he didn't want them to see that it was more than just a random note, twisting the paper in his hands almost to the point of tearing it.

**_August 10_****_th_****_ 1963_**

_"Idehay ethay ootlay, Ivatepray, Aptaincay Eepycray's omincay' inway TAY-inusmay alfhay anway ourhay!" Manfredi panted as he caught his breath. He'd run the whole way from the post office in the nearby village._

_"I'm sorry but I can't understand a word of pig Latin." Private replied. The two boys were in the garden of Nigel's cottage where they always spent their holidays. Still grinning madly, Manfredi translated the message:_

_"Hide the loot, Private, Captain Creepy's comin' in T-minus half an hour."_

_"Uncle K'walski?!" Private exclaimed._

_"Yup, the one and only. He sent a letter a couple of weeks ago saying he'd be coming to visit, but the letter got delayed and, well, he's coming on the 1630 from Euston. And we both know what happens if he finds those lunicorns," However, Private had already disappeared into the cottage._

_A few seconds Private and Manfredi were admiring a smoothed patch of earth behind one of the flower beds near the back of the cottage. A few feet under that, was a box containing Private's lunicorn and all its accessories._

_"Good luck him finding them there," Manfredi commented._

_"I'll always remember the day you saved Princess Self Respectra." Private thanked._

_"She's not safe yet," Manfredi replied, "Remember that stash of sweets I hid behind…" That moment they heard a car drive up outside the door and immediately the boys were out front, doing their best not to look suspicious._

_"Nice trip, sir?" Private greeted, hiding his dirt covered hands behind his back._

_"Reasonably so," Kowalski replied, "I assume your day consisted of more productive activities than hiding Private's lunicorns beneath the flowerbeds?" Immediately the two boys turned bright red with embarrassment._

_"Did not!" Manfredi protested, making Private wince. Manfredi was the only person Private had met who would outright argue with or even disobey Kowalski._

_"Did too." Kowalski replied, slightly awkwardly. Private didn't know if this was supposed to be some form of a joke on his part, but he doubted it, "as I am sure we will find out when Nigel digs it up." And with that Kowalski walked past the boys and into the cottage._

_"We have to get them out of there before he digs them up," Manfredi immediately stated, then after a few second thought continued: "Now here's the plan…" _

_"I don't know…" Private protested weakly._

_"Don't be so nervous. After all…"_

"…What could go wrong?" Skipper muttered.

"Sorry?" Kowalski questioned.

"Nothing. Any idea where a phone is? Jones is going to want to know about this."

* * *

"PS?" Skipper greeted, "This is Skipper."

"PS?" Skipper recognised the secretary's high pitched voice.

"Sorry, can I talk to Jones? Tell him it's urgent."

"Alright, I'll see if I can…"

"Actually, tell him it's about Manfredi and Johnson."

"I'll put you on right away." There was a pause as he was connected to 'PS's' private line.

"PJ, did you find Manfredi and Johnson?" Jones' voice asked tensely.

"Yeah, found dead in a day spa. Overdose on powerful muscle relaxants, causin' malignant hyper-somethin'-or-other. Point is, they're dead."

"Alright, I'll send in an extraction team, and talk to the police to make sure the press doesn't…"

"I heard about it on the evening news," skipper answered guiltily, "I've got no idea who alerted the press, but it wasn't us."

"Any suspects?"

"Two main ones would be Blowhole and our target judging by the knowledge of either medicine or poison the killer obviously possessed."

"Be careful, PJ," Jones warned, "Make sure you have the facts before you go charging in."

"Don't worry, Kowalski won't let me make a move until he's got all the evidence, and then some." The call ended. Jones reshuffled the papers on his desk. Six years later, and still the same old skipper: reckless and gifted, yet at the same time, so haunted, no matter what he said.

**_October 7_****_th_****_, 1969_**

_"I see why you requested me to train him," General Shingen commented, looking out at the courtyard where the recruits were sparring, Skipper taking down opponent after opponent, "He is talented like his father. He's little like the nervous child you were telling me about a few weeks ago when you summoned me."_

_"Believe me, he's changed a lot. Cast away his lunicorn and everything the moment we took the bullet out. Even changed his accent trying to stop being adorable little Private," Jones replied, "He's quite determined to master everything."_

_"His technique is impressive for one so young," the General mused, "His style is so natural to him it's as if he was fighting before he could walk."_

_"I wouldn't be surprised," Jones muttered._

_"Sorry?"_

_"Oh nothing. He's reckless though, that's why I wanted you to train him. I've given up trying to teach him that there's a better strategy than full frontal assault," for several minutes he watched as Skipper flashed that classic smile at his fellow recruits, all nursing painful injuries. He was the youngest of them, Jones had recruited him directly into the department, "He's so damaged though, you can see it in his eyes," Jones rested a hand against the windowsill with a sigh, "I only wish I could fix him."_

_"He seems to be a fine young man," Shingen replied, obviously unaware of what Jones was talking about._

_"When you spoke to him, did he tell you what his fondest memory of his early childhood? Before he was sent to England?" Jones turned away from the window, facing the training statistics pinned to the wall, "Kowalski took him on a camping trip. Taught him basic tracking skills."_

_"I see nothing wrong with that."_

_"They were tracking down one of _our_ agents, following the blood trail after the guy managed to walk twenty miles with one of K'walski's bullets in his leg," Jones elaborated, "of course when they got close K'walski told Skipper to stay put, and finished the man off without Skipper."_

_"That is… disturbing."_

_"That was for Will's seventh birthday."_

"Sir, Skipper's back again," His secretary announced.

"Alright, put him through," Jones once again lifted the receiver, "Skipper?"

"I've just been contacted by Barry, he's wonderin' why I was at the crime scene. Apparently he's having us followed," there was a pause, and then Skipper continued: "I think he was behind this. I'm not certain, though," There was another pause; "We've got a target, a trial mission."

"Tell me which agent it is and I'll try and come up with something. I know Clemson wants a transfer…"

"It's Agent 12, and I doubt Blowhole will be willing to cooperate," Skipper replied, "I need her file, any special abilities? Does she sleep in her armour like the chinstrap sisters etc.?"

"Sorry Skipper, I can't authorise this," Jones replied, "Your ROE* are to only use lethal force in self-defence."

"How can we have ROEs?" Skipper snapped, "We don't even exist!"

"On paper we don't exist, but in real life someone has to fund us and they don't want to…"

"Alright, self-defence," Skipper snapped, "why don't I walk straight into Blowhole's lair, wait for them to start shooting at me, then tell Rico to take her out from a sniper position."

"Because that would be suicide," Jones answered matter of fact-ly, though he knew those words meant nothing to Skipper, "I'm sorry, but I can't condone outright assassination." There was a crackle on the other end of the line as Skipper placed his hand over the receiver, however he shouted so loud that Jones could pick up something sounding close to 'Kowalski, options.'

"I'm not letting him get away," Skipper snapped, "I don't care if the first casualty in the room is me…"

"That sounds a lot like one of your father's plans." Jones didn't want to pull that card, but if it saved the kid from a coffin, it was worth it. However the reply he received was not the whispered backtrack he was expecting:

"Then maybe he got some things right." There was a click as Skipper hung up. He turned to Kowalski, who was watching him with concern.

"With all due respect, sir," Kowalski stated, "I think the mission's…"

"We're done here, Kowalski." Skipper snapped, starting out the door.

***Rules of engagement**


	3. Have You Ever Tried Just Knocking?

"My employer is getting impatient." Barry stated arrogantly.

"As I understood it, you didn't want this to point back to you," Skipper answered sarcastically, "If you want me to just walk up and shoot 'er…"

"Just make it a bit quicker," Barry rolled his eyes, "and also…"

"Come on, boys," Skipper snapped, "if we're going to keep to schedule, we should probably stop wasting time here." The team left the corner of the lobby in which the conversation had been held and started towards the large doors at the other end of the room, "I swear Rico, if that man makes one more arrogant remark," Skipper muttered angrily, "I don't care if he's necessary for the mission he will end up dead in a…"

"Tony?!" A familiar voice called from across the room. Skipper turned around, only to be confronted by those warm brown eyes that he hadn't been able to force from his mind since they met.

"Marlene!?" Skipper exclaimed looking like a deer caught in headlights. Private tactfully stepped out of earshot, motioning for the others to do the same.

"Why so surprised?" Marlene asked. There was that smile again, "I can kind of find my way around myself, you know. Well, somewhat. Anyway, I was thinking of applying as a secretary here. There's some interesting charity work being done, even if I'm not naive enough to know it's only for a tax break..."

"Marlene," Skipper's expression turned serious, "Trust me, this isn't the sort of place you want to get mixed up in."

"Why?" Marlene asked, the smile turning to a confused frown.

"I…" Skipper looked around to see Barry giving him a strange glance, "Just trust me on this, you'll find out once you've lived here a little longer."

"So what do you do here," Marlene asked, sceptically, "If it's such a bad place to be?"

"I don't think you really want to know that either." Skipper replied, "I need to get going, and…"

"Alright," Marlene looked down at her feet uncomfortably.

"Um, one minute Miss Adler," Kowalski interrupted before Skipper could make too much of a fool of himself. Kowalski shot him a 'back off' glance and Skipper complied. Skipper was glad to get away; he knew it was only a matter of time until he did something stupid like asking her out. He didn't feel any competition; Skipper could tell Marlene wasn't Kowalski's type. Anyway, Kowalski wouldn't dare try and start a relationship in the middle of a mission, especially after the reprimand he'd been given after Lara? Darla? Dora?

"Let's go. Kowalski will catch up."

* * *

Skipper examined the equipment, issued by Rico, all laid out in piles for each individual.

"Kowalski?" Skipper looked at the three piles, "Private's only got a cold, he can still go with us."

"Will," Skipper looked up to see the scientist standing several feet back, his hands clenching and fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket nervously, "I'm talking to you as your strategy advisor, and as your friend. I think you should sit this one out."

Immediately Skipper closed the gap between the two, glaring at his lieutenant, "Is that insubordination…?"

"No," The scientist's eyes darted over the equipment; he couldn't look his leader in the eye and say this, "Jones gave me special authorisation to override the chain of command in this case. He thinks that due to the special circumstances of this mission…"

"I'm incompetent?" Skipper was deadly calm, instead of the rage Kowalski had predicted. Somehow he found that more unnerving.

"No, it's just this particular…" Skipper silenced him with a look. The captain's fist clenched.

"If you are going to try and stop me…"

"I've arranged with Marlene for you to take her to that film," Kowalski stated firmly, finally making eye contact with Skipper, "You wouldn't stand her up, would you?" Skipper made a move for the phone.

"She's probably left by now. You won't be able to reach her."

Skipper glared at Kowalski, making the scientist look like he wanted to turn invisible. Still, he stood his ground. Finally, Skipper sighed. Kowalski had him cornered, "Alright, what are we seeing? Don't you dare tell me you got tickets for…?" Kowalski's automatic wince answered the question for Skipper, "I will be having serious words with Jones."

* * *

Kowalski knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" a man wearing a black suit with a bright red tie opened the door a crack. Recognising the caller he immediately slammed the door shut.

"How very rude," Kowalski muttered, but then what else could he expect from a lobster?

Suddenly the door opened again, and the same lobster reappeared carrying a small pistol.

"Come with me." he ordered, leading Kowalski down a corridor and into a large, darkened room. A door on the other side of the room slid opened with a soft whirr, and a silhouette of the lanky form of Dr Blowhole appeared like something from a movie.

"You know, I'd made all these elaborate plans for what I thought was every possible way you could break in here," Blowhole spoke, a displeased note to his voice as he switched on the rows of florescent lights, "But none for the scenario in which you just walk up and knock. Who does that?! And now, due to the stupidity of who ever came up with your attack plan, I was forced to use such a crude way to trap you."

"Well, sometimes the tried and true methods work best." Kowalski replied.

"No, you don't get it," the villain's hands flew up in a dramatic gesture of exasperation, "I have a reputation to uphold, I can't just bring you in here at gun point. Anyway, the place is a mess. You should have called first."

"I did try," Kowalski answered without the smallest hint of sarcasm, "but you don't exactly publicise your number."

"No, seriously…"

"I really did. The gun was completely unnecessary, I would have been happy to walk in."

"Wait, you wanted to get caught?! What kind of a tactic is that?" Blowhole sized up the scientist before him cautiously before continuing sceptically: "You want something, don't you?"

"I want you to kill one of your agents, specifically Rhonda."

"You want me to what?!" Blowhole exclaimed.

"I don't care how you do it, as long as it can be blamed on Skipper," Kowalski elaborated, "I'm not allowed to do it myself due to the current rules of engagement, but they never said I couldn't ask you to do it," Blowhole's expression didn't bode well for cooperation, "Why? Have I targeted too valuable a resource? You're supposed to be the guy with a million replacements for everything."

"No, no, no, I'm fine with the first part, but not the second," Blowhole raised a hand, silencing the other's attempt to continue, "not going to happen. I do not commit crimes and let other people take credit."

"Fine, just kick up a big fuss about her being killed, and keep her out of sight for a few months, we'll even pay for it."

"Nope. Anyway," Blowhole's expression changed, the conversation over, and he returned to the usual script with a victorious smile, "now that I have you, you and your team will finally pay for the death of my sister." Kowalski didn't reply, "You're supposed to deny the accusation, then I try to kill you, and then hopefully this time you won't escape. That's just how it works."

"I'm changing the rules. Tell me, while you were so busy arguing, do you think it possible for the rest of my team to bypass your defences and set up a two strategic positions, say, like those two?" Blowhole looked up at the points near the top of the room Kowalski had gestured to, to see Rico waving at him cheekily, and Private finally allowing himself to sneeze.

"You hinted at the fact that you could only use lethal force in self-defence," Blowhole countered, slightly disappointed that his attempt to salvage the usual pattern had failed.

"And you just threatened to kill me."

"Hm, I see your point," the self-proclaimed doctor answered thoughtfully, "Somebody get me Rhonda," there was a short wait, then a lobster ran up carrying a small microphone probably connected to some kind of communication system, "Rhonda, the Penguins are sending you on an all-expenses paid trip to anywhere you want, and it's apparently not a trap."

"Rhonda is asking if you've left the thought warping machine on again," a lobster shouted, much to Blowholes embarrassment at the fact that his poorly designed system had no way to hear what the other person was saying. Kowalski smirked.

"No, I blew that up last week. Anyway, hurry up and pack," Blowhole cast a grudging glance at his opponents, "I just want to get this over with so I can start planning ways to get certain smirks off faces who shall remain nameless."


	4. Career Day

"That was so sweet of Kowalski to set us up on this surprise date," Marlene complemented, "he's good with excuses, I never realised I'd be meeting you here."

"Yeah," Skipper muttered, adjusting his tie uncomfortably. He was not looking forward to the movie, though that was the least of his problems. He was falling for her fast, and he knew it. He also knew, if things went as planned, that wouldn't be a good thing to happen, "Kowalski's always got some kind of ulterior motive, though."

"Don't be so paranoid." Marlene laughed.

"You think I'm joking? Anyone would end up paranoid spending enough time around him."

"Well maybe I can fix that," Marlene placed a slender hand in his causing Skipper to blush almost instantly. However, he didn't move his hand as they left the restaurant, stepping out onto the street.

"Excuse me, sir," one of the waiters called, "you have an urgent call from a Galileo Newton."

"Galileo Newton, eh?" Skipper repeated, a half smile on his face, "Sorry, Marlene, I'll be back in a minute,"

"Alright." Marlene watched as Skipper disappeared inside, then followed him, keeping just out of sight, but within earshot as her date answered the phone.

"Galileo Newton? Seriously Kowalski?" Skipper scoffed. Then he paused, his expression morphing from amused to serious, "I see… tricked you back did he...? Yes I'll get you out… I'm looking forward to hearing your explanation for that." Skipper hung up the phone, and Marlene had to dive behind a pillar to avoid being seen. Immediately she took a shortcut, pushing through the crowd, and was back out front with a few seconds to spare.

"Everything alright?" Marlene asked, noting Skipper's strange expression.

"Sorry, Marlene, emergency at work," Skipper apologised, "You know your way home?"

"Yes," Marlene replied, slightly stunned by the move, though it was kind of obvious after overhearing the conversation, "At least, I think…"

"Good," Skipper interrupted, "I'm really sorry about this, but…"

"I get it. I still don't know what you do, but it sounds important." Marlene stared after him, long past the point he disappeared around the corner, shivering slightly in her thin dress, though her coat was only over her arm. Her expression was sad, although she knew she would be seeing him again. That was what she was dreading, though at the same time, as much as she knew she should, she couldn't find it in herself to let him go.

* * *

Private hated being captured. He didn't mind actually being caught per se – people were rarely hurt – it was all the angry words he didn't like. Actually, it wasn't even that. It was the years of bottled up hate, the sense of an unquenchable thirst for revenge, and the millions of psychologically unhealthy coping mechanisms that lay behind those words that Private couldn't stand.

"Alright, Skipper should be here in 10.77342 to 5.2291 minutes," Kowalski whispered, pulling himself up from the precarious position in which he hung upside down from a makeshift lasso made from a chain of paper bag handles. It had been the only way to reach the phone without the lobster in the room across the hall spotting them.

"Oo took you' time." Rico grumbled. It was hard enough to hold up another man's weight by the makeshift rope, but to do so whilst lying in a ventilation shaft was another story all together.

"Rico, I think he's coming back!" Private hissed from his position in the room they were supposed to still be trapped in. Immediately the other two team mates shuffled as fast as they could through the vent into the other room, and hastily replaced the cover, or as best as they could bound hand and foot. Almost immediately, the door opened and Blowhole entered.

"Sorry about the wait. I should have some kind of a decent demise set up within a few minutes," Blowhole stated, "In the meantime, why were you so anxious that one of my agents appeared to be killed by you?"

"We ain' sayn' no'in." Rico grunted.

"Ditto." Kowalski concurred.

"It would be quite unethical to disclose a client's details," Private answered, "I hope you can understand that as one professional to another."

"Why thank you for all that information, pen-gu-in," Blowhole replied sarcastically, smirking at the bewildered youngest team member.

"Leave the talking to me, Private." Kowalski sighed.

"Now why would Jones want one of my agents…?"

"Doc!" a lobster shouted from down the hall, "somebody set off an alarm down in the sun extinguisher heat exchange tunnels!"

* * *

Skipper walked as swiftly and quietly as he could along the maintenance catwalk above a sea of boiling water, dodging the various motion sensors with ease. He knew pretty much all of them off by heart; Blowhole should be more careful just which blueprints he didn't bother to incinerate. Suddenly an alarm went off, that Skipper recognised all too well. He looked behind him to see the offending sensor blinking bright red.

At first he was confused. He'd passed that sensor almost thirty seconds ago. Then he noticed the torn strip of light brown material, "Marlene?!" Immediately a familiar face ducked out from behind a pile of equipment. Skipper didn't know whether to be furious or just outright worried, but there was no turning back, "Come on, the guards will be here in a moment," Skipper hissed, grabbing her roughly by the arm, and pulling her along the catwalk. He didn't have time for sentimentality.

Marlene looked down at below her. She and skipper were on one of the ledges above the room, and the large backpack left behind confirmed this had been Rico's sniper position.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Skipper asked, breaking the silence that had been undisturbed since she'd been discovered.

"I got lost on the way home, and well, I spotted you," Marlene lied, "I was going to ask you how to get back, but by the time I'd caught up you were already in those tunnel things."

"And the fact I seemed to be sneaking in never clued you into the fact it might not be a good idea to follow?"

"Nope."

"Well, we're going to have to talk about that later. I've got a good idea of the lay of the land now. I want you to stay here and…" Marlene's face contorted into a scowl, "No you aren't going to do that, are you," Skipper sighed, "Alright, you can follow, but don't make any noise, stay close behind me, and follow my instructions to the letter."

"Yes sir."

"There goes rule no. 1…"

* * *

"Didn't you say Skippah was going to be here in five to ten minutes?" Private asked, slightly worried.

"5.2291 to 10.77342," the scientist replied.

"He' 'ont normally late." Rico commented.

"Do you think something happened to…?" Private began to ask, but was cut off by the sound of a key in the lock. The four watched with anticipation, hoping, though it was unlikely, that it was Skipper. No, it couldn't be Skipper. He'd kick the door down.

"I told you it would be faster to pick the lock." A female voice commented.

"I don't normally carry hair pins around with me," skipper grumbled in reply. The door opened, revealing the two, covered in a whole variety of greases, dust and dirt, Marlene's evening dress torn away for mobility high above the knee, "Alright, Marlene," Skipper handed her his pocket knife, "get to work on Private." Immediately he moved towards Rico, who looked like he'd already tried to eat through his bonds.

"You didn't seriously take Marlene…" Kowalski began to ask incredulously, until he was silenced by a glare from Skipper, "I'm not going to ask."

"How'd you get yourselves caught?" Skipper tactfully changed the subject.

"Rico's rifle jammed and Private panicked," Kowalski replied.

"Yeah right."

"Seriously!"

"What has Jones done to basic these days?" Skipper complained shaking his head, Kowalski nodding in agreement.

"So what's our escape route?"

"Private's getting Marlene out the way we came, and the three of us are going after Rhonda," Skipper replied shortly, he looked over his shoulder at Private, "You two hear that?"

"Yes Skippah."

"Should be pretty simple..."

* * *

Marlene shut the door of her apartment behind her. It was nothing luxurious, but it was home, or at least it had been for the last couple of years. She shivered slightly, and a few seconds later located the source of the draft: an open window on the other side of the room. She ran her hand through her hair, too tired to be bothered by a window she was almost positive she'd closed prior to her leaving. Her hand reached for the light switch.

"I'd prefer if you left it off," a voice stated, making Marlene jump, "Mrs Gordon across the street isn't known for her discretion."

"What… How did you…" Marlene stuttered.

"You really didn't think I knew where you lived?" The voice asked, "We had an agreement."

"I'm sorry, the agreement's off," Marlene replied trying to sound confident, though her voice was shaking.

"The agreement is not off until I say it is," the voice stated, "I don't care if you actually have fallen for him…"

"I haven't!"

"…It was probable, but I will still be expecting your reports. You went so far as to follow him on a mission, I don't see why you should suddenly have an attack of conscience," Marlene's hand gripped the handle, though she knew there was no point in her running, "But as you apparently have, and also seem to care nothing for that poor mother of yours who's hospital bills you are paying, I will remind you that I can kill skipper at any moment you wish," the room's only source of light, the window, went dark as the figure stepped in front of it, "And I can make you watch." With that the window slammed shut, and when Marlene switched on the lights, she was alone.


	5. It's Over Before it Begins

"This is not right, Skipper," Kowalski fretted, fidgeting compulsively.

"Wha' 'ot right?" Rico queried.

"There is a body, in the back of the car," Kowalski elaborated, "a _dead _body. What if we get pulled over?"

"Then we call Jones," Skipper replied matter of fact-ly.

"…it isn't even our car..." the scientist continued, not satisfied with the answer. Suddenly he turned to his leader, a look of annoyance replacing his anxiety, "Will you stop humming that tune?!"

"You sent me on the date," Skipper turned the wheel of the station wagon, turning off the main road, and as he did so increasing the volume of his humming, for the specific purpose of annoying his second in command. He could always claim he was doing it to keep him focused on something other than the gruesome turn the mission had taken.

"Where 'e goin'?" Rico asked, noticing the deviation from the accepted route, "Private alre' dropped Ma'lene."

"I think she deserves an explanation for this evening's escapades, at least before she considers reporting us to the police."

* * *

"… So after all of that, we realised a sodium chloride and water solution could deactivate the whole thing," Kowalski chortled contentedly as they walked towards the apartment, "And after all that time we spent trying to get the catalyst inhibitor into the system, which was kind of impossible in hindsight as, like you said, project S.T.A.N.K. had the best anti tamper system I'd ever seen, even after sitting in the basement almost thirty years…"

"Kowalski, you do realise nobody is listening." Skipper moaned.

"I will stop talking about what you call 'boring sciency stuff' the moment you stop humming that tune."

"Then we're gonna be hating each other a long time," Skipper replied sarcastically over Rico's exasperated sighs, and resuming his humming.

"Wha' can oo both shu' up?" Rico complained.

"Don't complain to me," The leader replied with false innocence, "all Kowalski has to do is stop talking, apologise for being so incredibly annoying, and…"

"…Let go of me!" a voice he recognised as Marlene's shouted. Immediately Skipper took off running in the direction of the cry, panic overriding his caution.

"The boss wants to know what you was doin' breakin' in with Skipper." Another voice asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Skipper rounded the corner into an ally outside the back of Marlene's apartment,  
arriving just in time to watch her throw a lobster who'd previously held her arms behind her into a wall, finish him off with a kick to the face, then grab a gun from her bag, now which was now free of the unconscious lobster's grasp, and point it at the remaining lobster. Immediately he ran off, Marlene firing two shots after him, both of which missed, "How did I get myself into this?" Skipper heard her mutter as she lowered the gun.

Skipper stepped out of the shadows, approaching Marlene. Hearing footsteps behind her she whirled around, gun in hand, and Skipper only managed to avoid being shot by wrenching it from her grip, and to the surprise of the rest of the team, pinning her by the offending hand to a nearby wall.

"Skip…Tony?" She gasped, recognising him.

"You know my name," Skipper commented dryly, the suspicions that had arisen with her knowledge of fighting technique strengthened, "What else do you know?"

"What are you talking about? I heard someone call you that." Marlene denied, struggling against his grip.

"My team wouldn't be sloppy enough to call me by a code name in front of a civilian," Skipper replied coldly. What was it he'd always told Manfredi? Never trust a dame. Nine times out of ten, they're an enemy agent, "Now, who are you working for?"

"No one," Marlene replied, the fear apparent on her face. She was no professional, even if someone had taught her a move or two, "I was just… curious."

"I doubt it," Skipper tightened his grip on her wrist, making her wince. He didn't even blink; he was too heartbroken to care. Still, maybe it was for the best, he rationalised. It was the cleanest way for what he had hoped wasn't becoming a relationship, to end, "I'll repeat the question: who are you working for?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She breathed, her eyes darting about the area, checking they were alone, though this examination didn't seem to be conclusive to her.

"I'm very open minded."

"You won't believe me."

"Stop stalling," Skipper growled, twisting his grip further, making Marlene let out a low moan of pain. He looked away from those warm brown eyes, so full of guilt. Guilt? Well, those types would try anything, he was told.

"Peter Kowalski."

Skipper's grip released, and he turned away from the girl. It wasn't good to let a captive know their last comment had caught you off balance.

"You're right, I don't believe you." He replied after a few seconds, "Go back up to your apartment. In fifteen minutes you will be taken by another team for more extensive interrogation."

"What if I just run the minute you…?"

"You won't get far," Skipper stated coldly. He could tell Marlene wouldn't run. If she was working for some major player, she probably wouldn't get time to. Still, that very thought made him want to turn back, and make sure she was handed over, but he had more important things to attend to.

"Interstin' 'esign." Rico commented, eyeing the confiscated weapon as Skipper handed it to him.

"'s yours." Skipper muttered, not bothering to look up.

"Indeed, Rico," Kowalski examined the weapon, "it seems to be made of various cannibalised parts. Wait a minute… there's some initials…" Suddenly the scientist's face paled, "Skipper, you'd better take a look at this."

Skipper accepted the revolver, looking up for the first time since he'd questioned Marlene. However, arguably, he was faced with an even greater shock.

"How did she get this?" Skipper asked tersely.

"It's yours, right?" Kowalski confirmed tentatively.

"Yeah, I haven't seen it in six years," skipper replied, "It could be a forgery, but…"

"Are you sure she was lying about…?"

"_He _wouldn't be so sloppy," Skipper snapped, "the target's obviously trying to put me off my game, using what they think is my weakness. With the influence Barry's supposed to have, I wouldn't put it past him not to try to sabotage our mission."

* * *

"Why'd you have to bring it with us, Rico?!" Kowalski exclaimed, then, after further analysis of the situation, continued, "Why am I even carrying it?!"

"Ooo picked I' up," Rico smirked.

"You are sick." Kowalski grumbled, handing Rico the body bag, shivering in disgust as soon as it was free of his charge.

"Skippah, what's in the bag?" Private asked. The four were waiting in a conference room, awaiting Barry's reception of the body.

"Need to know Private," Skipper replied.

"Are you alright Skippah…?" Private was perplexed by Skipper's behaviour, so much so he'd been watching his behaviour intently since he returned from the mission.

"So you actually did it," Barry stated, entering the room, "you certainly took long enough."

"There were complications," Skipper replied, "the point is, we're done."

"Well, show me the proof." Barry stated, obviously half hoping the team was lying.

"tha' why we brough' it." Rico whispered, elbowing the scientist.

"Alright," Skipper replied, "Private, look away…"

"Stop!" Kowalski interrupted, "How do you know you won't just take credit and leave us out? Sorry, but we'll only deal with the boss himself, not some mid-level…"

"I don't care who gets to see the body first," Skipper countered, shooting Kowalski a warning look, "And if you don't mind, I'd like to be paid."

* * *

"What were you thinking Skipper?!" Kowalski exclaimed as soon as they were out of the room, "We could have gotten strait to the top!"

"I'm not brainless, Kowalski!" retorted Skipper.

"Could 'a fooled me!"

"You're not in charge anymore, and if you remember correctly, when you were, you got yourself caught." Skipper snapped, an adequate comeback to which Kowalski couldn't find. Private and Rico, standing several feet behind, watched them warily, but kept out of the way.

For several minutes nothing was done to break the silence.

"If there's something you know about this mission that you're not saying, I'll respect your privacy," Kowalski spoke in a more balanced tone, though there was still a slight tremor to his voice.

"Thanks." Skipper replied. As Kowalski looked across at his long-time friend, he could see he was exhausted, both physically, and emotionally. It was evident in the slump of his solders and the slight scuff of his feet as they dragged along the floor before he saw fit to lift them up.

"However," Kowalski continued sternly, "if your silence gets all or one of us killed I will regret the day I ever pulled you out from under that tank, and make sure you know it."

"I think it was the other way around." Skipper replied, trying not to smile. There was no way he was letting the scientist win. Kowalski smirked. Skipper never could help correcting him.

"Then I'll make you regret the day you ever pulled _me_ out from under the aforesaid vehicle, if you want to be particular about the facts."


	6. Model Ships

Skipper paced the apartment like a caged tiger. He'd been doing that most of the day, and all Private could think of was that it was some kind of meditation, but Skipper wouldn't be caught dead doing that. Private could tell Skipper was upset. It was so obvious even Kowalski or Rico probably could. What Private had been thinking over the last fifteen minutes was how to get him to admit it. He knew how Skipper dealt with emotions: he bottled everything up, which only made the problem worse.

"Skippah?" Private finally broke the silence, only to be acknowledged with an annoyed grunt, "You know that model kit Nigel sent you for Christmas?"Private didn't receive much more than a 'leave me alone' glare. Still, something was eating at Skipper, and he was going to find out what it was, "I don't suppose you want to have a go at building it?"

"Models aren't my kinda thing," Skipper finally replied, "ask Kowalski."

"I just thought you seemed a bit bored," Private realised this was going nowhere. Still, he had only one other option, "Skippah, would you look at me when I'm talking to you?" Skipper hazarded a glance up from the floor, only to be met with Private's signature puppy dog look, "Please build it with me, Skippah?"

"Alright," Skipper grumbled reluctantly.

"Thanks Skippah." Private beamed, to which he got a hint of a smile. Well, it was a start.

* * *

"Pass me piece alpha two niner," Skipper ordered, engrossed in the two pieces, both no larger than the head of a pin, which he was trying to glue together.

"Alright…" Private searched through the various numbers on the plastic frame that denoted the parts beside them, "A 28 as well? They're identical."

"No, that's the next step."

"Piece A 29," Private presented his leader with the part. That really was all he'd been doing most of the afternoon, handing Skipper pieces. The one thing he hadn't expected that on reading through the first step Skipper would discover quite the aptitude for models, and all but snatch the pieces from Private's hands.

Private looked at his watch. He'd given Skipper ample time to calm down.

"Skippah, what was bothering you earlier?" Private asked tentatively.

"Um… Y'know, this and that," Skipper dodged, "pass me pieces alpha two eight and alpha three."

"No." Private replied stubbornly. He moved the pieces out of reach as Skipper's hand extended to get them himself, "You're not building any more of the model until you tell me what's wrong."

"Give that back!" skipper ordered, somewhat childishly.

"I'm going to be quite firm," Private stated, doing his best to imitate Mrs Snodgrass, the teacher who'd been the central point of many of his childhood nightmares, "You will not build one more step of that kit until you tell me what is the matter."

"That is not fair, Private!" objected Skipper, and he almost attempted to forcibly take the kit back, but Private's undeniably adorable scowl made him back down, "Alright…"

"Well?"

"I suppose you could call it girl trouble," Skipper replied sadly, "It's pretty stupid of me even to be upset, I probably should have even seen it coming…"

"Is this about Marlene?" Private asked. Skipper nodded. He'd picked up snippets of information from conversation between the older members of the group about what had happened, "It's alright to feel..."

"She was a spy, Private," skipper stated, "I should have been able to tell. I slipped up, and depending on the information she had on us…"

"Stop trying to overcomplicate the issue," Private interrupted softly, "You couldn't care less about the mission. You miss her."

"I don't know how you came up with…" Private raised an eyebrow, "alright, I miss her."

"Well that's quite simple, then. It might hurt, but eventually you'll move on."

"I guess I will." Skipper replied, and Private was almost about to hand him back the kit, when he noticed something else in his expression that he was obviously trying to hide.

"Do you think you might have been a little quick to judge her a spy?" Private asked.

"No." Skipper replied with false conviction.

"I see." Private could spot denial a mile away, "Tell me what happened last night."

"Well, she beat up two lobsters," Skipper replied shortly, "I tried to ask her how she knew those moves, and she turned the gun on me."

"Don't you think that would be a normal course of action for someone in her position?" Private asked, "What would you do if someone snuck up on you, after you'd just been attacked?"

"I'd look before I shot."

"I mean, what would you have done before you started…? No, um… Skipper, before I started basic at the department, if I'd been that frightened, I would have shot first almost on instinct."

"Fight or flight. I get it." Skipper replied, though it was obvious he didn't really.

"Alright, continue."

"Well, when I restrained her, she accidentally called me by my code name. Naturally I was suspicious, so I pressed her for more answers…"

"Was she frightened?" Private asked, "Because she might have just said the first thing that came to mind. She might have called you Skipper because – and I hate to point this out – with all the follow up stories about the Penguins in the media, and you do look a lot like the photographs they have of your father…"

"She didn't look frightened," Skipper replied thoughtfully, "she seemed… guilty, I guess. That's what puzzled me."

"And yet you were quite certain when you passed judgement." Private countered with undisguised sarcasm.

Skipper sighed, raising his hands in mock defeat.

"Alright, I messed up, Private," he finally admitted, "Now that I think back on it, I might have judged her a bit harshly. She obviously wasn't a professional and…"

"Skipper?" Kowalski poked his head into the room, "I just got a call from Barry. He wants us over right away."

* * *

"What are you nervous about, Kowalski?" Skipper asked. The team was waiting in a sparsely decorated outer office. What they were waiting for, Kowalski wouldn't say, but he'd hinted at it being something to do with payment.

"Nothing, sir." The scientist lied.

"Then stop fidgeting, it's making me nervous too."

"Yes sir."

"He'll see you now," Barry announced, entering the room.

"You've kept me in suspense all afternoon," Skipper asked, standing up, the rest of the team following suit, "who was it who wanted to see us?"

"Oh, it's you that insisted on seeing him," Barry replied sarcastically, "Now hurry up, not all of us have carefree schedules like you."

On this note Skipper entered, though as soon as Skipper saw the man seated on the corner of his desk, his mood changed dramatically.

"What the hell have you done Kowalski," Skipper growled.

"Wait, you know him?" the lieutenant exclaimed, though he was one step away from cowering behind the nearest convenient object. The man on the desk looked up at him, and the scientist blanched, "Skipper…?"

"Kowalski, take the team outside," Skipper hissed, "Now." Immediately the three others obeyed. There was something about his expression that automatically silenced all questions.


	7. Revenge

"You've grown since I last sa' you." The man at the desk stated, "'ou were five?"

"Six." Skipper replied tersely, "You slipped up, Rico. We traced the serial numbers on the bills you sent my mother. Now that I think about it, it couldn't be anyone else but you running things in Chicago."

"Then why'd Pri'ate send 'ou here, if you knew it was me." Rico asked.

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that," Skipper spat, his eyes searching the room. Rico's signature backpack was in the corner. If he got to that, Skipper knew he didn't stand a chance. Skipper cautiously moved forward, watching his opponent's every move. He'd trained his whole life not to fall where his father had, now he was going to see if it had paid off, "I always tried to tell myself he had it coming. He did."

"But oo s'ill wish he could've been 'ere to help you pra'tice for tha' 'ig game 'gainst Wa'ker El'men'ary." Rico finished empathetically, almost with a hint of bitterness, neither of which Skipper picked up.

"You should know K'walski never let me play that game." Skipper snapped.

"Wai'ing for me to attack first?" Rico noted, seemingly regaining his calm, "you left your we'pon behin'? Just like 'ipper."

Skipper's eyes burned with hate, beyond smouldering, now in an all-out inferno. He took a single step forward. Rico stood up from the desk, taking a step forward himself.

The two were now only a few feet away from each other. Rico looked down on his younger opponent, and that fire seemed to die. Rico had just about every advantage in the book on him. He had the size advantage, more experience, as well as training, and, unlike Skipper, was almost certainly armed to the teeth. Rico couldn't pretend he wasn't disappointed in the kid. He hadn't expected him to be intimidated so easily.

Suddenly Skipper's hand went for the knife he knew Rico kept in his right hand pocket, and Rico was only given notice enough to dodge the consecutive strike by the slight smile which betrayed Skipper's move. However, Skipper's edge didn't last long, even as his opponent retreated a step, his wrist was grasped by a strong hand, which guided the attack along its trajectory, bringing the knife back around towards skipper's neck.

This was a text book move. Rico was mocking him! Still, it allowed Skipper time to duck beneath the blade, but it left him in the awkward position of having his right arm twisted across his chest, inhibiting several attacks with his left. With no better options, Skipper continued around with the movement 180 degrees so his back was to Rico, and attacked with a back kick to the knee cap.

Rico blocked the move as easily as I type this sentence, and a few seconds later, Skipper found himself thrown against a wall several feet away from his previous location.

"You're ou' of your depth, 'id." Rico stated.

"I don't care!" Skipper roared, launching another attack with the knife, which was still in his grip. He blindly slashed at his enemy, and Rico was slightly taken aback by the sudden viciousness as he narrowly dodged each swipe. However on the forth swipe, Rico was a split second too slow, and the knife managed to draw blood, cutting a shallow gash in his chest.

Skipper paused, if only for a brief second, startled by the blood. It was a sudden realisation that the demon hiding in the shadows Rico had been betrayed us could bleed. Rico, on the other hand, was well aware that he was human and used the pause to fit in a well-timed kick, pushing Skipper back a few steps, giving him time to make a dive towards the backpack in the corner. At least Skipper knew now, that, for whatever reason, Rico was unarmed save the knife he'd taken. Still, he couldn't let him get to the backpack, and Skipper was given no choice but to throw the knife, which embedded itself in the wall a millimetre from Rico's head.

Instead of going for the bag again like Skipper had expected, Rico surprised him by springing directly at Skipper with an agility he shouldn't have at his age, leaving the knife behind but attacking instead with an equally lethal strike. But he'd left himself open, and Skipper spotted the flaw in the attack.

Skipper blocked the attack, at the same time placing his foot behind the attacker's. Before Rico could have time to connect the dots, Skipper struck out with a strait punch to the face, which, following his opponent's pattern of evading instead of blocking, Rico attempted to duck under. However, Skipper's foot blocked Rico's left leg from sliding backwards to balance and Rico found himself rapidly approaching the floor.

If Rico was going down, Skipper would join him. As he hit the floor, he knocked Skipper down with a kick to the ankles, and this done, sprung to his feet like a cat. Skipper could tell he was going to go for the backpack. The fear started to rise in his chest. He tried to think but his strategies were blurred over by a single thought: he could lose, the same way his father had, with the same price.

"No!" Skipper panicked, attacking with a poorly executed kick to the kneecap. Immediately he made a dive for the knife embedded in the wall as Rico stumbled. This in hand, he tackled the stunned Rico to the ground, and before the other man knew it, the knife was pressed against the area of back above the left lung, Skipper's knee planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

Rico waited for the blade to enter his back, but time passed and the sensation never came.

"Wha' are 'ou waitin' for?" he snapped. However when he looked up Skipper's eyes showed confusion, not hatred. However, the confusion soon resolved and Skipper stood up, letting the knife slip into his pocket.

"If you want to die, do it yourself." The younger man stated. It was then Rico's gaze rested upon the gun on the floor, which had evidently fallen from his left pocket when he was knocked down. Then, answering the silent question, Skipper continued: "You could have killed me a hundred different ways with fifty different weapons at any point."

"I coul' have left your mother des'itute, lef' you to be raise' by a psych'path," Rico snapped, "If I'd let m'self finally ha'e peace."

"Kowalski's gone and I've been supporting my mother the last seven years." Skipper countered.

"Then I 'ould have robbed 'ou of your chance fo' closure. Manfre' an' Johns'n's killer paid, bu' I didn' do it m'self," Rico explained, "They still haun' me as much 's 'ipper."

"Then I'm not as merciful as you think," Skipper replied coldly, "I'm not going to let you rest. Ever." Skipper walked towards the door, keeping his eyes on his opponent, "I realise now that Kowalski trained me from the moment he adopted me to kill you, and I'm not letting either of you get your way." Skipper could see the agony and desperation in Rico's eyes. Good. "Actually, it might burn you more to know I'm handing you over to your 'Private'. He'll finally get that victory he's waited twenty years for." And with that Skipper shut the door behind him, entering the outer office where the team was waiting.

"I'm sorry Skipper," Kowalski stuttered, "I didn't know he was…"

"Get me Jones. He needs to know what's going on," Skipper interrupted. He could deal with Kowalski's command problems later.

"And you can make things right with a certain lady friend too," Private added, innocently unaware of the current situation, as usual. Skipper often wondered of the kid's head ever came out of lunicorn land.

"Yes, that too, Private," Skipper acknowledged with a weary sigh. He had to say, when it came to a team, he'd certainly lucked out.

Kowalski handed him the receiver, halfway through dialling Jones' number. Skipper accepted it, taking a seat in one of the nearby chairs.

"PS, the mission's over," Skipper announced, "Rico's ready for…" Suddenly Skipper's weary smile froze. Private could see his body tense and his eyes lose focus, as if haunted. Then, the conversation over, the receiver was replaced almost as if in a dream. Skipper immediately stood up, "We're leaving for New York."

"But what about…" Kowalski began to ask.

"He'd only escape anyway."

**I had to make Rico's speech a bit more coherent for the purposes of moving the plot forward. For those who thought he was Kowalski, well, he wasn't, but Kowalski will be returning to seriously mess things up for Skipper in the next chapter.**


	8. More Ghosts

**This chapter was very hurriedly spell checked (sorry), so hopefully it won't be too full of errors. **

**_September 8_****_th_****_ 1975_**

_The man allowed himself a half smile as he entered the bank. He looked up at the ceiling. Yes, he could see the fresh coat of paint that crudely disguised where he'd blasted the part of the ceiling away with an automatic back in '49. This was the scene of the infamous Penguin's first crime._

_"Good afternoon," he walked up to one of the tellers, "I'd like to open an account." He was promptly instructed to take a seat, where he waited for about ten minutes. At the end of this space of time, which he could think of no better way to log as other than completely wasted, he was approached by a young lady in a formal suit who led him to a desk near the back of the bank._

_"Just a few questions before we can open your account," the employee, whose badge said her name was Lara, opened a new form in front of her, "What is your full name?"_

_"Peter Kowalski." The man across the desk from her answered._

_"Have you ever held an account with us before?"_

_"No."_

_"What is your occupation?"_

_"Retired. I ran the Penguins for twenty years…"_

_"The band?"_

_"No, the gang," the woman across from him looked at him as if he was crazy. Maybe he was. Brain damage due to blood loss could do that to a guy, "Oh yes, and I dabbled in bank robbery, ironically." Kowalski looked on at the woman, who seemed to be frozen in shock, "It would seem you've forgotten your lines," he picked up the phone from the desk, and placed it in the catatonic woman's hand, "Here, doll. What you do is you call the police," when the woman still refused to move, he dialled the number himself, "They will then put you on hold after assuring you their best men will be over there immediately and call Department D, where the ex-Private will just about have a heart attack…" Kowalski paused, "It would seem I've given you a whole lot of extremely classified information," finally the unfortunate woman got up from the desk, making a run for the door, screaming, "can't have that getting out to the press," he sighed, "Well, now I've told you, I'll have to kill you." he drew his gun, and, in a single fluid and practiced motion, shot the woman in the back._

_"Oh my god he's got a gun!" the room erupted into screams._

_"Feels good to be back," Kowalski announced as he marched into the main lobby, removing two grenades from his pockets, which he casually tossed at the area of ceiling above both doors. Rubble crashed down, blocking the exits, "Now, who wants to give me the combination to the safe, or do I have to give out more classified information?" he received no reply. He lifted the phone, which he'd carried with him, the cable dragging down the aisle, "You hearing all that Timmy?"_

* * *

**September 9****th**** 1975**

"When I arrived every person in that bank was shot dead," Tim Jones explained, "He even left the gun on the floor with a note saying it was the murder weapon, and that we shouldn't waist time on ballistics. We still ran the tests. It matched."

"Are you sure?" Skipper asked, stunned. It just didn't seem like something Kowalski would do. He was never theatrical, and often criticised Skipper for adding a hint of showmanship during training sessions.

"He sounded different, but it was him alright."

"Could it have been someone…?"

"I worked with him, and then hounded him for twenty six years," Jones replied, "I know his voice, and the camera footage shows him, until they went haywire" the ex-private replaced the forensic reports on the table in his bag, "Maybe I shot a little close to the head."

"Well, insane geniuses are our specialty, right?" Kowalski commented optimistically.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jones replied darkly, "Forewarned is forearmed, Skipper."

"What are we going to do, Skippah?!" Private panicked.

"You guys are going to stay out of it," Skipper answered firmly, "This is my mistake to fix."

"But…" Kowalski began to protest.

"Make one more insubordinate move and you're off the team Kowalski."

"If it saves your life…"

"I can put the whole building in lockdown and hope none of you starve," Skipper snapped, "I won't have any of you getting involved." The team looked to Jones to strengthen their cause, but received no cooperation.

"He's obviously going after Skipper and me," the superior replied, "we can't do anything about that, but you're still some of the best men I've ever worked with. I don't want any of you ending up as collateral damage if it can be helped."

* * *

**September 10****th**** 1975**

"Skippah said he'd be back by now," Private fretted.

"I wouldn't worry," Kowalski lied, "he hasn't exactly been particularly punctual lately."

Once again the room lapsed into silence, save for the almost inaudible tick made by the clock in the mess.

"Did he mean what he said about us starving?" Private asked, "You know, if we were to go out and look for him…"

"There' food 'n fri'ge," Rico answered. This had been the pattern conversation had followed for the past hour, which was an improvement on the constant worrying of the previous day, and the uninterrupted silence of the morning.

Kowalski leapt to his feet at the sound of the door opening, and was already standing by the door when Skipper stumbled in, the sleeve of his shirt crimson, where it was present at all.

"Stich me up, Kowalski," Skipper ordered, "Doesn't have to be pretty, just make it fast."

"Skipper," Private gasped, "what happened to…!?"

"A f…" Kowalski shot him a warning look, "A timed explosive is what happened," Skipper replied bitterly, wincing as Kowalski cut away what was left of his sleeve to reveal painful, though not life threatening, burns. On top of this, making Private look quite green at the gills, were shards of glass of all shapes and sizes, embedded about the arm "I followed just about every scrap of evidence they picked up at the scene, went over it myself with a fine tooth comb – it wasn't pretty – and finally got in the right place only to just about get blasted to pieces by one of the intruder alarms. I didn't even find out if he was in there, but it looked like his work."

"So…" Kowalski prompted.

"I've got some more leads to chase, hurry up."

"And…" Kowalski continued to hint, waiting for Skipper to complete the sentence.

"What?" Skipper asked, clearly not taking the hint.

"Well, um," Kowalski began to ask, looking about more uncomfortable than ever, and that was saying a lot since the week had been record for this, "Do you think you might do better with some assistance?"

Skipper's look told him all he needed to know, but he still waited for the inevitable answer: "No."

* * *

Marlene sat in the cell she'd inhabited the last few days, wearing a fresh set of cloths a few sizes too small, and the remains of the evening gown she'd arrived in rolled up and tucked under her arm. She listened to the tapping sounds of feet on concrete as they approach until finally the guard opened the door.

"Can I go now?" She asked. Earlier that day, a rather pleasant man who introduced himself as Special Agent Jones – though she doubted it was his real name – had told her that they would be releasing her that day, though she would be assigned a guard to 'protect her'. Well, it was better than a cell.

"Sorry, your departure's been delayed," he replied gruffly, "They want to talk to you again."

"Then you can tell them they're wasting their time," Marlene snapped defiantly, "I'm not saying a word." She didn't care what they threw at her, but she did know this: if she said a word, and she had no doubt _he_ would know if she talked, Skipper wouldn't last five minutes. She'd seen Kowalski in action. She'd seen Skipper too, but she knew the young agent, or whatever he did, didn't stand a chance against him.

"Well they can go ahead and waste their time," the guard answered indifferently, "someone wants to talk to you."

Marlene gave the guard a sarcastic look before following him out into the plain concrete tunnel, turning off onto another tunnel, and finally entering the familiar plain whitewashed room with the two way mirror.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you," Jones apologised, standing up and offering her a chair, "Do take a seat."

"I'm not saying anything." She answered bluntly.

"You are putting scores of lives at risk," Jones reminded.

"I know." She knew all right, and it ate her up from the inside more than Jones would ever know.

"Very well then," Jones walked towards the door, inciting a curious look from Marlene. This wasn't the pattern. He opened the door, "She's all yours, Skipper."

"Skipper?!" Marlene all but cried with joy as he walked into the room, but quickly restrained herself. Skipper shut the door behind him.

"I'm…" the two began in unison.

"You have my sincerest…" Skipper started, pausing at what might be his least favourite word in any language, "…apologies, ma'am. I hope nothing…"

"This is all my fault," Marlene raised a hand over her eye as if there was something stuck in it. She wasn't going to cry, "I wish I could…"

"Marlene," Skipper's adorably awkward smile forced one onto her own lips, "Just tell me why you… how you…"

"I can't," Marlene sat down on the chair dejectedly, "I just can't. I know I owe you an explanation…"

"You certainly do," Skipper replied, slightly more harshly. He looked at his watch, "Marlene, I don't have much time. Jones has told you what's going on. I need you to tell me where you two would meet, what information was passed, and what was said."

"I can't." Marlene couldn't look at him as she said this. She could guess he was disappointed, maybe even angry, but she couldn't break now.

"Marlene," Skipper took the chair from across the desk and put it down beside her, taking a seat. At this point, he had no idea what he was doing; this certainly wasn't what he was taught to do in these situations, "What's he got on you? Family secrets? Money? Does he have someone close to you? Please look at me, Marlene," he watched as her tear streaked eyes slowly raised from the table, "Whatever it is…"

"He said he'd kill you," Marlene interrupted sharply. Another tear rolled down her cheek, despite her best efforts to prevent it, "I won't say any more."

"I…" Skipper really didn't know what to say to this. Well, he had to get her to talk, somehow, "Marlene, you aren't protecting me by staying quiet. He's going to try and kill me no matter what you say. It's my job to catch him, literally, that's what pays the rent, and not giving me the information means I just go charging in blind."

"I won't take that chance." Marlene replied shortly. There was a pause as Skipper tried to think of something else to say.

"Marlene, did he ever tell you my real name?"

"It's Skipper."

"No, that's my code name." he could almost see Jones shaking his head frantically behind the glass. He leant back in the chair, tipping his head back with a weary sigh. He didn't like the position she'd put him in, "Marlene, my name's William Grant. Kowalski raised me since I was four," Skipper stood up, walking across the room so he was facing the plain white wall, his back to her, "that's how I know it's only threats." He hated to lie to her, especially if she only uncovered the lie when they tipped whatever was left of him into the sea, along with a few words about him being bumped off by you know who, but that day would almost be scheduled in fate's calendar if she didn't talk.

"Are you sure?" she asked tentatively.

"Completely. He won't hurt me."

"You wouldn't lie to me?" Skipper shook his head reassuringly, walking back across the room towards her, though his conscience was screaming at him louder than the silence between answers, "There… there was one place he mentioned, if the letter with the report wasn't picked up from under the loose brick, to send it to…"


	9. Alone

"PJ?" Skipper's radio crackled to life.

"Uh hu." He hated recon. Kowalski was much better at recon, and to Skipper's amazement actually seemed to enjoy it enough that he'd report how many blades of grass were on the lawn if you didn't stop him.

"We've just broken down the door of a warehouse in the meat packing district. The police got called in after reports of gunshots. Well, that was four hours ago," Jones reported, "The leader, and known lieutenants of the mysterious sewer rats were found dead inside. The lab boys haven't had a go of it yet, but it looks like everything points towards…"

"I know. What does he have to gain from all this though?" Skipper thought aloud.

"You can ask him that, I suppose." With that the conversation ended. Skipper climbed out of the commandeered station wagon he was waiting in and started to walk towards the front door of the mansion. He stopped as he reached door, which was just as cold and foreboding as it had always been, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He knew that all the other doors and windows were booby trapped, possibly with similar explosives to the day before. K'walski had explained the strategy to him like this: If they're trying to get in, and they're good enough that you actually care if they do, you can't really stop them, but at least you can control where they get in.

The door opened with a creak, though Skipper was expecting it. The place held so many memories, that he'd closed it up as soon as he had been accepted into the department. He'd actually considered selling it, but he'd been warned by Jones that the amount of secret passages and panels, potentially hiding sensitive information, were more than he could ever hope to find prior to the sale. All that was necessary for a major security breech was for one of those passages to be found.

It was these hidden passages, at least the ones he knew of, that he was running through in his mind as he examined the darkened dust covered hallway. The sheets covering the furniture left so many hiding spots that he was in the perfect spot to be ambushed. Still, as far as he knew, his target was in the office near the centre of the building, and seemed completely unaware of his presence. Skipper had gone to insane lengths to keep it that way.

He walked towards what looked like a window with it's curtains drawn, a few feet away from the door. Painstakingly slowly, so as not to make a sound he parted them, exposing, not a window, but a dark tunnel. With equal caution Skipper climbed through and moved the drapes back to their original position before continuing down the passage, which led directly to the study. It had originally been designed as a quick escape, which was why it was so easily accessed, and relatively alarm free.

About half way along the passage the tunnel forked. The left path went a few feet further before it ended in a ladder which went up to the floor above, the right fork continued to the study. Skipper took the left, climbing the ladder, though leaving his injured left arm by his side. It was too obvious for him to go directly to the study. That would be exactly what was expected of him. It was this reasoning which made him once again deviate from the path leading to the second entrance to the study. Instead he opted for the one which took him to the room above.

The room had once been a guest room but was, like the other rooms, covered with spectral sheets. On one wall, a dust covered poster was left uncovered. This had been almost permanently Manfredi's room, which only reminded him more of why he was here. "_Hide the loot, Private, Captain Creepy's comin' in T-minus half an hour_." Manfredi had named his killer.

Skipper approached the window, inspecting the key pad that controlled the security for that window, and if his lieutenant's notes on similar systems developed for the department were correct, by entering the master code he'd be able to shut down the whole network. This code had baffled him in his youth, but it was obvious to him now: Doris.

The windows now unlocked, Skipper silently slid the window before him open, and secured one end of the thin but strong cable he'd brought with him into the side of the wall, and started the climb down to the window of the study. He paused a few feet to the side, and sure enough Skipper could see K'walski seated at the desk in the same manner he always had, with his back to the window. He seemed to be reading something, a large volume; Skipper guessed it was one of the classics he'd always been encouraged to read.

Suddenly K'walski stood up and walked towards the window at a leisurely pace, giving no indication that he'd seen Skipper (the inturder still flattened himself against the wall for good measure) and opened the window.

"You can come in any time," He stated, not even looking up at Skipper as he returned to the desk, and without any hurry, marked his page, "In approximately 2.227 minutes your arms will get tired and you will be forced to either come in or go back up to the guest room." At this Skipper knew it was not a ruse to get him to reveal his hiding spot, and climbed through the window, but not releasing the rope lest he need a quick getaway option, "On your way in you alerted me to your presence by failing to silence the front door though it was obvious it would not open silently after so many years of neglect. I was impressed by the fact you didn't take the obvious route, or even the second most obvious and you may have managed to surprise me if you hadn't entered Doris as the password. It might have let you in, but I'd expected you to guess it, so I reprogramed the system to silently alert me the moment it was entered. If you'd gone for the second most obvious, you would have guessed correctly."

"This isn't a lesson." Skipper snapped. He recognised that patronising tone, and he wasn't four anymore.

"Apparently it is because you obviously didn't pay attention to any of your previous lessons on anticipating the enemy."

"Why are you back?" Skipper asked pointedly, pleasantries aside.

"I thought Marlene told you that." Kowalski replied, "Why are you here?"

"Manfredi and Johnson," Skipper replied, " and the Herring Bank massacre as the media are calling it."

"It was probable that it would get Jones' attention, though I would hardly call it a massacre unless you consider the crippling effect it had on Rico who had a decent amount of freshly laundered bills there," Kowalski's expression darkened, "_He'd_ be disappointed in you. You had the perfect opportunity for justice."

"Don't change the topic. The slip of paper in Manfredi's pocket named you as his killer."

"Your argument is flawed. I had no grudge against Manfredi," Kowalski replied, "The loss is unfortunate. He was a far more promising student than you ever were." However his expression gave no indication of any sorrow.

This was more than Skipper could take. His hand flew to his pocket, and a few seconds ahead of Kowalski pulled his gun and fired.

The bullet shattered the glass a few inches from Skipper's head, but that was the only shot fired. Skipper's gun had jammed. He almost turned around to signal Rico to fire, or toss him a replacement, but he was on his own. In fact, his alarm must have been apparent in his expression as Kowalski continued:

"Don't think your equipment is immune to jamming. This isn't one of those comic books you used to read as a kid," Skipper backed towards the window only to see that the window above had been shut, and the line wouldn't take him low enough to jump to the ground without breaking his legs which would be certain death, "Truth is, the good guys never win, and if they do, they don't stay good very long."

"Last time you said something like that you didn't take the shot," Skipper stated, more for his own morale than any hopes that it would convince the other.

"Unlike you I learn from experience," Skipper's opponent replied coldly, and the stare that seemed to go almost through him echoed the same. Strangely, unlike the panic he'd felt only days earlier, he was angry. Angry that due to a simple mistake, his failure to check the weapon before charging in, almost mimicking the full frontal assaults Jones, and ironically, K'walski too, had claimed would be the death of him.

There was a thud as the hook at the end of a line took hold on the windowsill, and  
without even checking to see who had thrown it, Skipper dived through the window and climbed down it. Bullets coming from both the garden and the room he'd just left flew past his head, and it wasn't until he hit the ground harder than he expected that he saw his rescuer.

"Ge' up, kid." Rico barked, pulling Skipper up from the ground by his collar, and dragging him towards the perimeter fence.

"Thanks," Skipper finally spoke, though there was a grudging note to his voice. The two men were already half way back to the HQ; neither had wanted to say much for the first half of the trip.

"Tha' was badly plann'd 'nd careless." Rico criticised.

"I know," Skipper replied dully. He didn't get it. He'd never been that sloppy. In fact, that was the third operation that had ever gone wrong, and even the ones that had in the past hadn't gone that wrong.

"y' need 'oo team or ya gonna get yourself killed." Rico stated bluntly.

"I can't," now that he thought about it, if Kowalski had been there, he would have done a better job at the reconnaissance, probably spotted something he didn't, maybe even found a better way in. If Private had been there, he probably would have used his uncanny understanding of people to realise that K'walski wouldn't have been sloppy enough to use Doris as his password, and if Rico had been there, well, he would have had a spare line, and even better, a spare gun, "If I leave them out, there's a chance K'walski will overlook them. At least then, even if I don't make it, they won't pay for my mistakes."

"Y' don' get it. I kno' how Ko'alsk' thinks an' after 19 years with 'im, I'd think 'ou woul'. He notices eve'y move 'ou make. He read' you like a book, 'specially oo, Private, 'nd then 'ee turns it all 'gainst you."

"I know." Skipper replied. Rico rolled his eyes.

"By pushin' your team 'way, you're only lettin' 'im know y' care 'bout them, 'nd also that withou' 'em, you're lost. They're 'is next target if 'e can find 'em," Rico could see Skipper still wasn't getting it, "If I notice' how y' looked back for ya sergeant, 'e did. He' gonna use that 'gainst ya next time 'nless you comp'etely change you're attack."

Now only a few steps from the HQ, Skipper stopped, his hands thrown up in a gesture of defeat.

"Alright, so at this point I've probably given away everything. I have no idea how I'm supposed to beat him."

"What'd y' normally do, if ya stuck?"

"Ask Kowalski, I mean, my Kowalski."

"Then ask 'im. Enemy's not goin't expect tha'."


	10. Hearsay

"… And I was just starting to think about possible escape routes," Skipper reported, though some of the details were slightly altered. Well, he couldn't have him men thinking he wasn't in control of the situation, could he? "When Rico tossed the rope through the window. After that…"

"Skipper," Kowalski interrupted, "I don't want to suggest that you are unable to handle the current situation, but…"

"You want to help. Alright, start thinking of options," Skipper replied, much to the amazement of his lieutenant. Private's eyes even started to get a bit misty, earning him a glare from Skipper, "How do you think I should go about it?"

"Well," The scientist grinned, "while were stuck here I read all the files I could find. I also searched the Daily Central for all of Marlene Robert's articles and notes on the Penguins."

"They exaggerate ever'thin'," Rico countered, though all but Skipper were baffled as to why their supposed enemy was present, causing the Kowalski's proud smile to droop, much to the Rico's amusement. That scientist took himself way too seriously. However, this changed when the visitor motioned to a cardboard box overflowing with files and documents of all shapes and sizes, "'ve brough' what I could, bu' papers ain' everythin'."

"Then we've got a problem," the scientist answered, "Just about everyone with senior positions in the Penguins are all dead."

"There was a head of PR K'walski often talked about," Skipper added, "I didn't see his name mentioned under dececed. A Barry Malone?"

"He work' for me." Rico replied. Kowalski smirked.

"Oh no way am I spending five minutes with him!" Skipper exclaimed, "How about this, Private can talk to Barry, you can go through your archives, and I'll talk to some people I know…"

"Then we can all meet back at Marlene's place and talk to her." Kowalski finished. The meeting obviously over, the room emptied as the various groups set off on their appointed tasks. Skipper however remained behind, and after a few seconds asked:

"Why are you helping?" Rico turned around, and without a second's delay answered:

"Revenge." The word was simple, but it still baffled Skipper, as was apparent, "I don' know what 'owalski told you, but I wa' sent to th' 'Cabana by 'owalski 'cause there was supposed t' be an enemy agen' under cover as a ba'tender there."

"My father was one of K'walski's closest friends…" Skipper gasped, though he had to say, it made sense. People had killed for far less than an entire city, and it did seem like the kind of roundabout way K'walski would do something in, but he'd seen the pain in his eyes when he told it. Jones was a good judge of character and Kowalski's mourning had been entirely genuine, "He wouldn't do something like that."

"You're thinkin' of Jones?" Rico asked, "'e always had a soft spot fo' 'owalski since he save' his life, bu' he'll confirm this: ah was never th' psycho' on the team. When we wanted somethin', 'specailly unpleas'nt done, we whent to 'owalski."

* * *

Rico and Rico sat glaring at each other, neither one's eyes leaving the other for more than a split second. Private meanwhile, looked on completely mystified, and after a while decided to look out the window as there probably wouldn't be any change in the status quo. Why couldn't everyone just get along?

"Why're ya here?" The older Rico grunted.

"Why're you?" was the sharp reply.

"'s my emplo'ee. Don't Private trust 'e?"

"I trust you," Private answered, slightly confused by the question.

"Sorry, 'id," Rico replied, "Jus' sound weird ta say 'ipper."

"'ipper trust you as far 's 'e can throw ya." Rico answered.

"Don't be offended, though," Private added, "Skippah doesn't really trust anybody."

"Sorry, boss I didn't know it was you!" Barry called as he ran towards the group.

"'s fine." Rico replied, motioning for Barry to join them.

"Good afternoon, Mr Malone," Private greeted courteously, "I believe we've met before…" Barry gave him a suspicious glance, before his gaze moved to Rico.

"Why're the cops here, boss?"

"Answer th'r questions." Was the gruff reply, much to the surprise of the ex-journalist, however he couldn't disobey a direct order.

"What do you want to know?" Barry asked, though his voice still held a note of suspicion.

"I believe you were the PR officer for the Penguins," Private began to ask, "following the late Skippah's…"

"We call it an accident 'round here and leave it that," Barry interrupted, "Sure, I was."

"Well, you might have read in the news…"

"You want as much info as I've got on your zombie friend," Barry interrupted once again, earning him a disappointed frown from Private.

"I'm not trying to attack…"

"Lemme put it this way," Barry was quite determined not to let the shy young brit finish a sentence, "I can tell ya stories, but I was only the PR guy. I sat in on a couple of meetings, but whenever it was something big, I was given the boot. Kowalski didn't trust me. If you wanna know details about his strategies, fighting techniques, training etc. I wasn't in on any of that either. That's why I'm still breathin'."

"You were quite well known in your day as knowing everything, or at least being able to find it." Private pleaded hopefully. He opened his mouth to speak again, but much to Barry's chagrin, decided he was better off sticking with his complete sentence.

"No offence to you, boss," Barry nodded to his superior, "But he was the best. Never slipped up once."

"Y' always got somethin' on anyone important." Rico objected.

"Or were ya losin' you're touch, back 'en." The younger Rico taunted.

"I did, but it wouldn't be useful against him now." Barry replied indignantly, removing a small leather-bound notebook from his pocket, "A confirmation of the fact he knew he wasn't workin' for the government and a documentation of every single crime under Skipper isn't very useful when he just walks into banks and shoots at everyone."

"It still might be usefull," Private replied and extended a hand towards the book. After a nod from his superior Barry handed it to him.

"It's the reporter dame's notebook."

* * *

"PJ!" Julian exclaimed sighting the familiar face, "I haven't seen you in de centuries!"

"Hi ringtail," Skipper replied, though much like the last time he'd spoken to the nightclub owner, his voice lacked enthusiasm. He'd been putting off this visit a long time, years, in fact.

"You're a little early for de party, but…"

"Actually, I'm here to see mom." Skipper interrupted, scanning the empty nightclub until he spotted a woman seated at the bar, staring mournfully into a drink. He clenched his hands taking a deep breath before walking past Ringtail and towards the woman clad in a dress of simple black cotton. He was only a few feet away when she looked up.

"T… Tony!" Lola exclaimed, a look of pure joy on her face, "You came back to me." Skipper winced, and in as gentle a tone as was possible corrected:

"No mom," his own heart sunk at the same time as his mother's expression, "It's just me." Lola's eyes by now were rapidly approaching the drink, though at the last minute she pulled up, glancing over her son with a poor attempt at a smile.

"I'm guessing you want something," She stated, "You haven't come to see me since you shipped out."

"Mom, I…!"

"I'd prefer it if you would skip the pleasantries, Will," Lola corrected firmly, with surprising clarity in her eyes, "_He _always understood that," with a weak, though genuine, knowing smile she continued, "Yes, I know exactly why you're here."

"K'walski's out of control mom," Skipper elaborated, "I don't know why he's doing this…"

"Did you ever consider asking?"

"I did. He shot at me."

"Did you shoot first?" Skipper's guilty glance confirmed the answer, "Well I'd shoot at you too," Skipper had to say, she had a point, "Why don't you tell me the whole story."

Skipper grudgingly recounted the story, often trying to soften the harsher details, though Lola saw through all of these. Not once did she flinch, and didn't stop Maurice when he tactfully removed the glass and emptied it.

"And you believe Rico on all of this?" Lola asked. She shook her head in the way Skipper often would when Private said something particularly naive, "These are old hands at this game, Will. Don't think for one minute either of them have or ever had anything but their own interests at heart."

"K'walski tricked him into murdering my father," Skipper countered with unshaken certainty, "We both want the same thing."

"That was according to Rico," the name, despite her obvious self-control, was pronounced sharper than the rest, "But how is his word more reliable than Kowalski's?"

"Because he didn't kill my best friend." Skipper answered sharply, though immediately regretted the inelegant tone.

"That might be so," Lola replied, though it was clear she was equally sceptical about what Skipper deemed to be fact, "But I'll tell you this: Kowalski always kept an eye out for me…"

"But…"

"His ego liked to pretend he didn't care, but I knew he did. Anyone who knew him knew he did."

"I…"

"Every mistake he made, and they were _mistakes_, he was trying to help us, but of course being, well, Kowalski, he got it all wrong, none of which was his fault. Apart from Doris..."

"He's not the man you knew, mom." Skipper interrupted darkly. Lola sighed. Everything was just going in one ear and out the other.

"Just try and put your daddy issues aside a moment and trust your gut."

"My gut says shoot."


	11. His Second to Last Chance

"…Well, I don't know," Marlene stuttered, "I was never told much more than I needed to know," Marlene paused as if trying to recall something, "No, he did say one thing… he said someone had taken everything from him, that he wasn't sure what he wanted yet. He just said right now all he needed was a lay of the land."

"Well, thanks, Miss Adler for what you've told us." Kowalski could tell she probably didn't know anymore, at least, nothing they didn't know already.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more," Marlene replied, as the visitors stood to leave.

"You can't tell us more than you know." Skipper reassured, following Kowalski towards the door. This would stay strictly business.

Marlene lay back across on the sofa, shutting her eyes and trying, at least for a few seconds, to block out the world.

"… How's the arm holding up?" she heard Kowalski ask from outside the door. As her eyes shot open she noticed that he hadn't shut the door properly.

"It's fine," Was Skipper's reply, "Is Private trying to get even with me by being late at the most awkward point possible?"

"Private trying to get even with you? Are we talking about the same lunicorn lover?" The voices started to fade as she guessed they walked down the ancient staircase. Didn't they know what elevators are for? However the second comment was louder and strangely well-articulated, "You know that explosion could have killed you?"

"That's the least of my worries. He wasn't even trying at that point, embarrassingly enough." Marlene frowned.

"I hope Private has better luck than us. Otherwise…"

"At least with what we've got you'll be able to get Blowhole off your back." Skipper interrupted.

"Blowhole can't exact his revenge if your ghost from the past gets us first…" the pessimistic comment was cut off at the same time the sound of a door shutting, but Marlene had heard enough.

* * *

With a quick, controlled movement Kowalski added another red circle to the map, denoting the location of yet another possible staging location. He folded the map and placed it in the drawer of his desk. He had to say, he'd missed the efficient order of which while he was away, and his attention moved to the case files on Manfredi and Johnson he'd gotten from his source in the department, the next task on his list. He was disappointed to think Private was probably searching the whole city for him, yet he would never consider the fact he'd never moved from the very study he'd confronted him in.

The telephone snapped him out of his meditation. Perhaps he'd been a bit rash in making the assumption Jones would not consider searching his current location.

"Who is this?" He asked as he picked up the receiver, disturbing the layer of dust settled there. He never was one for pleasantries.

"Marlene." Was the timid answer. He had to say, it was interesting how Private had gotten her to talk, "Listen, I was tricked," she pleaded desperately, "Skipper told me…"

"I am well aware of what occurred."

"You won't… I heard him saying…"

"He did escape, didn't he?" Kowalski answered rhetorically. She obviously wasn't as worried as she pretended. She was well aware of what was going on, he could tell that by the way she was handling the situation. It was a common trick amongst both the seasoned and the rookies who considered themselves attractive to play dumb, flutter their eyelashes and hope to win your sympathy.

"I've got the security feed from that HQ place," Marlene offered, though the silence told her the buyer wasn't impressed, "And, there's also someone else they're working with," she continued hoping for a better response, "Skipper got the records that went missing after the police raid on Penguin from him," There was further silence. Kowalski scowled. Now this, was dangerously unexpected, "I don't know his name…"

"Approximately six foot one, red hair, blue eyes, a scar crossing the left side of his mouth?"

"Yes, that sounds like him."

"I want everything you can get. Everything."

"Where can we meet?" Kowalski pulled the map from his drawer and after a few moments consultation answered:

"Alex Lionel studios, sound stage 7. I assume that it wouldn't be suspicious to your guard for you to attend a special screening of the film you missed, and the crowds will provide you with adequate opportunities to get yourself lost."

"What about tickets? I mean, it's kind of a celebrity event and all."

"An acquaintance will let you in." He hung up the phone. There was nothing more she could tell him. Still as he replaced the map and shut the drawer, the telephone cord was caught on article of furniture, knocking the contraption over. As he replaced the phone on the desk his eye fell on a telegram, yellowed slightly with age. Below the heading and address, the message at the time had been nothing that out of the ordinary, but now even the first line was enough to stir almost tears. However he couldn't stop himself from reading the message, start to finish:

"FATHER HAS MADE FREQUENT TRIPS TO ZOO WAREHOUSE. POSSIBLY STORAGE AREA YOU HAVE BEEN SEARCHING FOR.

DORIS C/O GLORIA MELMAN"

"Oh Doris…" he muttered, letting the paper fall to the desk. The memory that sprang to mind was certainly a candidate for his greatest mistake.

**_March 9_****_th_****_ 1966_**

_Kowalski was drumming his pen on the desk, as he had been doing for the last half hour. Every once and a while he'd glance down at the figures before him, but he really wasn't in the mood. Technically, he was supposed to have them done yesterday, literally, but it wasn't like there was anything anyone would do if he didn't. He was one of those strange, melancholy moods in which even Barry would know to steer clear of him. Skipper would have knocked him out of it with a witty attack and between forty to sixty pushups, but then that was ten years ago._

_"…I have to see him!" a female voice pleaded, though it was too faint to recognise. He could hear the sound, almost of a scuffle. Probably someone from finance after those figures._

_"He's busy right now, I'm sorry." He heard another person reply. Busy, yeah right. Kowalski navigated around the desk and walked towards the door. Anything would be better than sheer boredom, and it would certainly give him something to think about if his excuses were going to be more creative than his last ones._

_"… You don't understand, it's urgent…!" The door opened and Kowalski's eyes fell on the woman who was so eager to see him._

_"Doris?!" He exclaimed. Doris stopped struggling, and their eyes met for a split second, though she quickly looked away._

_"You know her, sir?"_

* * *

_"…I don't know how he found out," Doris recounted to the purse she had in a death grip. The years had been kind to her, though she was by far no longer the young woman he'd known, he was still mesmerised by every move she made. However her brow was creased with worry and the dark circles under her eyes only added to the effect, "Maybe he got hold of one of the telegrams, but he knows I've been spying on him. I probably wouldn't be here if Francis hadn't warned me," For the first time since she'd entered, Doris hazarded a quick glance up from her bag, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… There was just nobody else…"_

_"I'm just glad you're safe, Doris," Kowalski replied, "and I'll do anything I can to maintain the status quo."_

_"I tried to find Blake," She continued to apologise, "but they told me…" the pale façade Doris had barely kept up slipped away, and the very last walls of control crumbled, "How did it all happen?!" she choked, once she was able to continue, "They all ended up dead. Skipper… Marlene…" _

_Doris stopped abruptly, and Kowalski felt her tense. He hadn't even realised he was holding her, and immediately mumbled an apology. He'd respected her wishes to be left alone, and would never want it to even cross her mind that he might have tried to take advantage of her momentary weakness._

_"I guess it was going to happen sometime." Doris sighed, holding him tighter in response to his attempt to step back. Kowalski froze like a statue, caught in limbo between what was the right thing to do, and what he knew was the truth._

_"You were right though," He admitted sadly, finally deciding on the former, and stepping back to a decent distance, "It never would have worked. I did change."_

_"Neither of us are getting any younger," Doris countered, once again closing the gap between them, "and I'm almost as wanted as you now." Kowalski could see there was no fighting it. They weren't sure if it was their love that had survived all those years, or just a mutual need to no longer be alone that brought them together once more, shielding each other from all the world would throw at them._

_"You don't have to worry about that," Kowalski answered at what was barely a whisper, but there was a determination that reminded Doris of the ferocity he'd fought her with in Munich when they were barely children. His arms gripped her just that bit tighter as if to demonstrate the point, "I will never let anyone hurt you."_

* * *

_"Hey, chief," Barry reported, letting himself into the room, "Recon team checked the warehouse… Sorry, sir." He immediately apologised, though at first he thought he was seeing things. The boss with a girl? And looking, well…_

_"He's there?" Kowalski asked, his eyes lifting from Doris, who'd fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion, her head rested on his shoulder, an almost peaceful expression on her face. They'd just sat there, he didn't even know how long, until she'd finally drifted off. There was little to talk about that wouldn't hurt so they just sat there conversing with their thoughts, and occasionally making a comment or two on a book they'd read, though they stayed far away from such topics as ethics and local politics._

_"Yes sir."_

_"Thanks." Barry took this as his cue to leave, though at the last moment snatched a second glance before he left. He had to be dreaming._

_Kowalski carefully shifted Doris' weight, allowing him to stand up from his perch on the desk. He quickly surveyed the room, and decided that the couch was the best place to relocate her. As gently as possible he picked her up bridal style, and was surprised by how light she was, placing her delicately on the article of furniture. He then turned to leave, but noticed that Doris' left arm had fallen from the couch. He lifted the hand to replace it on the furniture, though as time came to place it he was filled with sudden dread at the thought of looking down. Still, he couldn't just stand there, so finally he forced his heart to obey his need to not look like an idiot, and hoped that his guilt laced fear of a metal band around her ring finger wouldn't present itself._

_"I lied about moving on." Doris muttered, lazily opening one eye. Kowalski smiled. To hell with chivalry._

_"I'm just going to check on a lead. I'll be back in an hour," Doris' eye closed and as he left the room he switched off the lights. He paused a moment, and a thought that hadn't crossed his mind for many years occurred to him as he watched her sleeping form. It hit him like a tidal wave: the fact that every time he went out might just be the last time he ever saw her. Suddenly the money and the power didn't matter, and for the first time in years, he was afraid to die, "G'night, Doris." He whispered. When he came back, they would run away, so far away, nobody would ever find them again_

_What he didn't know however, was that a few moments after he left Doris sprang to her feet, grabbed her coat and left the room._


	12. Operation Filing Cabinet

**These flashbacks might seem kind of pointless and generally getting in the way of the plot, but they're relevance will become more apparent in later chapters.**

**_March 9th 1966_**

_"You've pushed me one step too far, Blowhole," Kowalski growled. He had Blowhole cornered in the control room at the heart of the underground base, on the opposite side of the room to the computer bank that would allow him to call every lobster in the city to his location._

_"You would suggest that I allow a spy to continue to operate?" the scientist countered calmly._

_"Even I wouldn't hunt down my own kid."_

_"Then I will probably outlive you," Blowhole smirked._

_"I wouldn't count on it…"_

_"Kowalski!" Doris cried running out of the safety of one of the darkened tunnels towards her father._

_"Doris?!" Kowalski exclaimed, fending off a desperate attempt to disarm him, "What are you doing?!"_

_"What are you doing?" She countered, backing away, as the first course of action was obviously futile. She now stood dangerously close to what would be directly in Kowalski's line of fire._

_"What I have to do if you're ever going to be safe," Kowalski pleaded. He could tell the conversation was spiralling dangerously in the direction of another that was equally unforgettable, "I hadn't wanted you to know…"_

_"You aren't seriously…" Doris paled as the realisation, a conclusion Kowalski was surprised she hadn't come to already, dawned on her, "Couldn't you just get him to promise not to... or…or turn him over to Private?"_

_"If I turn him in, and Jones arrests Blowhole he'll arrest me too…"_

_"Since I'd be so happy to testify as to his many crimes," Blowhole added, "It is a difficult decision, isn't it, pen-gu-in? You can save the girl, but you will lose her, however if you keep her, she will die."_

_"Kowalski, please…!" Doris begged but could find no sympathy, "Maybe…"_

_"You know what would happen to me if I'm caught." Doris seemed to be swayed by the argument, as was demonstrated by the slump in her shoulders, and she slowly walked away from the no man's land between the two adversaries. Blowhole was right. Either way, he'd never see her again._

_Suddenly Blowhole's hand moved rapidly from the side of his chair, what was undoubtedly his own weapon, concealed by the object. Almost out of instinct the gun went off in his hand._

_The sound of the single shot was almost as loud as the sound of Doris' body landing at her father's feet. The crazed laugh and the second shot that followed were barely remembered in comparison._

* * *

**September 15****th**** 1975**

Kowalski was seated on his bunk in the HQ, sorting through the papers he'd been given, especially the diary Private had procured. It was much like a normal diary, except for the setting, not the objective notes he expected and though the data was strange at best, and outright contradictory at worst, it still offered an interesting insight into the previous team.

_"… I can't wait for tomorrow! I've planned the whole trip from start to finish as I think Kowalski has too, at least from the budget side, though Skipper has often told me that price is no consideration. Well, maybe I can end this whole thing fast if I bankrupt them on haute couture, though if anyone can do that, and sadly she won't be able to make the trip, its Doris…"_

"Doris." Kowalski repeated, shutting the book. It defied logic how much damage that name could do.

**_Operation: Filing Cabinet 3/9/66 _**

_"Galileo?" Francis called from the other room._

_"Dammit," the barely eighteen year old muttered. He had to get those papers to Jones before the message the mole in the department had sent got to Blowhole and exposed him. He grabbed the folder, hiding it under the black blazer that was standard uniform for lobsters, and started to walk down the hall. If he could get the folder to the roof he'd be able to request a pick up then his job would be done._

_"Galileo Newton?" Francis called again. The young agent winced guiltily. However he was snapped out of his moral debate by the sound of a single shot. Immediately he set off running down the corridor towards the control room where he assumed the shot had come. He was almost to the door, though he could, from the limited view of the room, see nothing amiss when his foot collided with a metal object that skittered across the floor. He picked it up, examining it a few seconds. This certainly wasn't standard issue lobster. In fact, it looked strangely familiar, like something he'd seen in the files, he just couldn't place where._

_Having been delayed long enough he resumed his course. He should have turned back._

**September 17****th**** 1975**

"Hey doc?" The lobster poked his head into the lab. There was a crash and a fizzle as the beaker of some strange liquid slipped from the scientist's hand and smashed, the liquid slowly starting to eat away at the floor.

"Yes, red one?" Blowhole snapped. That experiment had taken him the last two days, and he was already starting to think of suitable methods to exact retribution, when he reminded himself he was short on help these days.

"You ain't gonna believe this, doc." The lobster continued.

"Well, what is it?"

"It's… No, you gotta see it," the lobster handed Blowhole a plain white envelope, "It's to Doris, doc."

"I can read," the scientist took the letter, examining the precise writing on the envelope, "This better be good, now that you've told me your address." He thought aloud. A risky move indeed. He couldn't think of a single thing inside that letter that would prevent him from charging right in and levelling the whole block. The nerve, using Doris!

"That will be all, red one." Blowhole dismissed the lobster, his thoughts taking him back to the single moment that had consumed his entire life.

**_9_****_th_****_ March, 1966_**

_"Galileo?" Francis called for the second time, and was surprised by the lack of answer. He hated pulling rank, but Galileo was his personal lab assistant, and father always insisted that the chain of command be kept apparent. Galileo had agreed that it was better that way. After the third call he had no doubt that something had to be wrong, so he left the room, started down the corridor in the direction his acquaintance had left in. That was when he heard the shot._

_Immediately he quickened his pace towards the room from which his mental calculations had judged the sound to have come._

_"Doris!" he screamed as he saw her lying there, and as he saw the blood. He raced across the room to where she lay sprawled at the feet of her father's wheelchair, "Doris, please talk to me!" he panicked after he received no answer. She was terrifyingly still and pale, her eyes closed and a small stream of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Ignoring the crimson pool he lifted her form from the floor, desperately checking for any signs of life._

_"Doris!" Shouted another voice that Blowhole knew well. There was a patter of feet as Galileo ran towards Francis, "What happened?" He asked, seemingly just as shocked as the other scientist. Seemingly._

_Doris muttered something unintelligible, her eyes fluttering open. Then she spotted Galileo, and her eyes widened, "Kowalski?! You…" and she drifted off again, but this was enough for Francis, and it was more than enough when he saw the gun in the other man's hand._

_"Why?" He demanded, standing up and allowing Doris' lolling head to rest in the puddle of blood, "Why?" he repeated as he approached, still not quite comprehending what was happening. It was like some kind of twisted nightmare, with the two people he loved most in the world._

_"Francis, what are you…" Galileo stuttered, and then the pieces started to fit together in his head, "Wait, you don't think I…" The incriminating weapon slipped from his fingers, but Francis was fast to retrieve it._

_"I know you were sent here to spy on us. I thought you were working for Jones but…" Francis recounted, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening, "I didn't give you up, because I thought… I was under the impression we..."_

_"I didn't kill her!" the lab assistant denied, backing away nervously, "I knew she wasn't involved! That was why I told you what was happening so you could warn her!" However Blowhole had told his son all about the things people would say if it would let them live just a few more seconds. Francis had been taught every trick the Penguins would play in order to get his father. Now that, he could understand. It was going to happen someday. That was why he was being trained to be the successor. But Doris… He knew the Penguins considered her a security risk since she apparently could recognise their agents, but why now?!_

_Apparently Galileo saw that he wasn't fooled and quickened his pace, so he was now facing Blowhole from the hallway just outside the room. _

_"How could you do this, Galileo?" He was no longer shocked, he was furious. Doris had always told him after she had come back, that she was going to invent the first flying car, that she was going to learn the violin. And most of all, that one day someone, she never said who, would come back, and they would finally go to that cottage by the lake and... Before he knew it the firearm was raised from his side._

_The bulletproof glass door slammed down between them as Galileo hit the control panel, though he still stood staring for several seconds back at Francis through the glass. Then he turned around, running off into the darkened hallway. Francis watched him run as a tear slipped down his cheek._

_"I don't care what I have to do," he vowed, though even in his mind he choked on the words, "but he will pay. I will never stop until he pays."_

He couldn't understand why she did it, putting herself between her killer and their father - he'd asked himself many times yet he was certain he never would have done the same, and certainly wasn't expected to - but he didn't need to know what happened to crave revenge.

However the natural curiosity that made him a good scientist got the better of him and he opened the envelope, reading the letter. As he read through the letter his expression changed, and he adopted an almost childish grin. However a few seconds later it changed again to a thoughtful anxiety.

"Get me pen and paper red one." He shouted through the door at the lobster outside.

* * *

In any other situation, Marlene would be over the moon to be able to attend such a function, but now she could barely help but shiver in the new evening dress she'd bought.

"Ms Adler?" Marlene turned around, and was surprised by the man that stood before her. Gosh Kowalski had friends in high places, "Hi, I'm Alex Lionel, but you can call me Alex…" Marlene's expression still resembled that of a fish out of water, "Are you alright, I totally get it if…?"

"No, I'm fine." Marlene replied hurriedly. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard she'd been assigned who was starting to tire of his search for her in the dense crowd.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here," Alex replied, and there was a slight flicker in his warm smile, "Take the door to the left. He's just outside."

"You hear that, Private?" Skipper whispered into his radio.

"Yes Skippah."

"I said she lead us right to him," Kowalski added proudly. Of course, he'd never actually admit that he'd tricked Skipper's crush into what had a 6% risk of becoming a very dangerous situation for her, but it worked, right?

* * *

Marlene walked with forced confidence across the barren stretch of concrete, broken only by a recreation of a plain white clapboard house. It was relatively unlit once she shut the door, and with the sun sinking below the horizon it cast a dark purple glow over the whole scene. Stood still as a statue, looking out in the opposite direction to her was the purpose of her visit.

"You have fifteen seconds to hide or you'll land in jail again." He spoke, turning around sharply as she soon as the boards of the first step creaked beneath her weight.

"What?" She stuttered.

"This is a trap and you have been the bait. You now have ten seconds to hide. I recommend somewhere where you have decent cover. There will almost certainly be shooting."


	13. Sniper at 12 O'Clock

**September 14th 1975**

Skipper and Rico were stood opposite each other on the mat, while the weapons expert of the same name watched from the corner, cleaning an M16 disinterestedly.

"You joining us, Rico?" Skipper asked.

"Nah, ah'm just watchin'," Rico replied, looking up briefly, just long enough to shoot his namesake a suspicious glare.

"Suit yourself." Skipper answered noting nothing amiss. His attention reverted to Rico's older counterpart and the other weapons expert slipped back further into the shadows.

"This migh' add a little t' your time but I' might give y' the upper hand," Rico began, " science 'id gave me th' idea."

Suddenly his hand shot from his side and skipper barely blocked the punch.

"You sure we aren't enemies?" Skipper asked dryly.

"Sorry 'id. Jus' wan'ed t' see what you'd do." Rico chuckled, "now attack."

"Any preferences?"

"Wha'ever y'... " skipper didn't give his opponent time to finish his sentence as he attacked with a powerful kick to the head. However Rico, much to skipper's amazement blocked effortlessly. Skipper's confused expression was apparently hilarious to both Ricos, and they didn't disguise the fact. "Sorry 'id. Brainy told me y' always start a fight like tha'. Brings me back t' the point: 'f Ko'alsk's got his master plan set up an' he expects a kick an' ya give 'im a punch, or he's waitin' for y' to run after 'im and you don', that'll seriously mess things up for 'im."

"So you're going to teach me to react backwards?"

"No, 'cause 'e'd start to predict tha'. Science 'id's given me ya file an' other stuff Ko'alsk' could get 'is hands on, an' I'm gonna try ta use that 'gainst y'. Your job is ta make sure I can'..." Skipper once again attacked with another kick to the head before Rico could finish his sentence and he promptly found himself flat on his back. Rico sighed, "tha' would be 'xactly wha' I'm talkin' about."

**September 16th 1975 **

Jones was seated in a room full of his best analysts, listening to them argue over the contradicting data. Maybe he should have interviewed them separately in hindsight.

"Sir!" Agent Roger Park charged into the room, "I'm not sure how to put this..."

"Contrary to everyone in the room's predictions there's been more killing, each body with a post it note saying K'walski did it." Jones snapped. Roger looked slightly taken aback. The ex-Penguin never used sarcasm, and certainly rarely took such a tone.

"Barry Malone was found shot dead in his office this morning. We'll, sir..." Roger hated to step on toes, never mind suggest a traitor might be among them, "a lot of the stuff at the crime scene... um… should have been in our evidence locker." Roger handed jones the murder weapon, "lab boys have gone over it, it's defiantly the murder weapon and the prints are Kowalski's..."

"This is from the Blowhole case," Jones interrupted, "our K'walski found it at the scene of the homicides. The Penguins later claimed responsibility. It doesn't make sense though. He swore he'd never use it again," Private stood up, motioning for them to move to a corner of the room farther from the other occupants, "It was the last time we ever talked."

"The point is it got up and walked out of _our_ evidence locker."

"So we have another mole in the department," Jones concluded tensely, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the room. Roger opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. It was just a rumour. Nothing more, "What's on your mind Roger?"

"There's a potentially damaging rumour going around..." Roger winced, "they aren't so sure it was Kowalski who killed Malone."

"I'm not so sure either now, though I know he has something on at least a dozen of our agents. Still, there has to be only four people in the world who have a copy of his prints."

"Well, a lot of people are thinking it might have your Kowalski, who is one of those four as of the start of the mission."

"Rubbish."

"Well their logic works like this, not that I agree with it, he's a nice kinda fellow, but Skipper had him under investigation for being a double agent..."

"Skippah investigates a new person each week. I was the suspect sometime last month. It's just routine, he's been taught never to completely trust anyone."

"I know, but what they're saying is what if he got it right this time. Barry probably would have found out if our Kowalski was a double agent and so he would have had to be killed. If he pinned the murder on Skipper's obsession, well, Skipper would take it at face value."

"And why would one of my most trusted team become a double agent?"

"He and Francis Blowhole had a… close… um… relationship while he was on Operation: Filing Cabinet," Roger whispered, "if he could prove he didn't kill Doris Blowhole, which he can now... We just need to counter this rumour, sir. Joey's all in favour of knocking him off not on the off chance he's the double agent."

"I'll think of something. Thanks Roger."

* * *

"So far I've got confirmation in Nigel's final reports, from around '54 to '55 that Kowalski was already pretty much running the Penguins, but would often get annoyed at the fact that requests could still be denied by Skipper," Kowalski thought aloud, "According to the notes of a Lulu Phillips, Skipper often remarked that if he ordered one more set of budget cuts Kowalski would probably kill him. The references were often made jokingly, however notes from the same source suggest there may be more to the remarks…"

"But there's a lot of references from Miss Robert's diary and reports by Hans the Puffin that he was completely loyal to his Skippah," Private countered, "I believe the diary describes Skippah as being the replacement for his older brother who we know he was completely devoted to." Private and Kowalski had been assigned the task of sorting through the mountains of data for any kind of clue as to motivation or common strategies. Well, it was the best excuse he could think of to get out of the extra combat training.

"Why is everything so contradictory!" Kowalski exclaimed almost spontaneously, "None of the reports agree. I don't know if we're talking about someone worse than Rico, or, your favourite source, Miss Roberts, says he was a kind of a friendly, awkward high school nerd. So, apparently, does Mrs Knight."

"People do change over time, you know," Private added, "Perhaps Marlene and Skippah's mum saw some kind of supressed…"

"Well the subtleties of the psyche are all very fine for you and Freud to go debate over tea and lunicorns but I've got to turn out a strategy," Kowalski answered, but Private was not dissuaded.

"I know I say this about most people..."

"Kindergarten ended a few years ago, Private."

"... But I think he was a nice person, he just needs a hug."

"Now that, I'd just love to see," Kowalski scoffed, "Tell me when you try, I want to get it on tape."

"I don't mean literally, but obviously he's lost hope. He's just lashing out at the first thing he sees. Like Marlene said, he's not even sure what he wants."

"Well think of something he doesn't want so I can take credit for the idea and we can throw it at him."

* * *

Skipper hit the mat hard, trying to hide a wince as he landed on his left arm. Rico extended his hand and Skipper was on his feet again.

"'ow what ya did wrong?" He asked. Skipper nodded, "I think ya oughta take a break." Skipper shook his head.

"One more." He panted.

"Alrigh', kid." Rico answered, and was surprised to find that he had not been interrupted already. Rico was starting to wonder if the kid was alright, when suddenly Skipper made his move, positioning himself as if he was blindly going to repeat his past mistakes. However as Rico prematurely moved to block the kick, mechanically following the previous pattern, Skipper abandoned the attack, dropping to the floor and knocking his opponent's feet out from under him. For a few seconds he was completely stunned. Skipper stood up, extending his hand, grinning from ear to ear.

"I think I've got the idea."

"Wow." Kowalski uttered the monosyllable, wondering if he'd just seen the scientifically impossible. Two days and Skipper had taken down Rico, who had been considered the best living hand to hand combatant apart from Joey that they had documented the abilities of. That last part was what they had to worry about.

"Well done Skippah!" Private congratulated.

"Glad you boys could find your way out of the nerd corner," Skipper greeted, "Now what have you got?"

"Well..." Private began.

"Private's got nothin' that wouldn't make you puke your guts out," Kowalski interrupted, "I, on the other hand, have identified almost all common strategic..."

"You have fun with that. Just tell me the minimum I have to know, but later so you don't spoil my good mood," Skipper interrupted, "I don't know about you boys, but I think I'm ready."

"Same, unless you want…"

"No thanks."

"On the matter of a different code name, I hope you've given it some thought? It gets pretty confusing…?"

"Yes, I've given it some thought. You can have the informal code name of Prince Shares-a-lot, and Private can have Princess Self-respectra.

"Oh goody!" Private squeaked.

"You know what, you just keep up that strange pronunciation changing thing." Kowalski replied.

"Too late," Skipper smirked, "you already submitted a formal request."

"Technically it wasn't witnessed by a superior officer, so no, I didn't," Kowalski grinned, "Yes Skipper, 1,273 to 1,274 contingencies my favour."

**September 17th 1975**

Marlene had climbed up onto the roof (nobody would think of looking up, right?) and though she was constantly struggling not to slide down the slippery shingles it had a nice aerial view. There was a bizarre variety of buildings scattered around, everything from medieval castles to giant flowers, and the strange shadows they cast did nothing to help matters when it came to trying to spot the approaching team.

"You should be more careful," a familiar voice spoke, and a shadow rose from the tall grass on the other side of the gravel path, "You fell right into our trap." At least now she knew why her contact was watching that area so intently.

"It is more probable that I allowed you to think that in order to get you out in the open," was the answer. There were a few uncomfortable murmurs amongst the team.

"The most obvious course of action." Skipper thought aloud.

"'eah righ'," Rico, and much to his comfort the other Rico had been given strict orders not to accompany them, countered, "Y' just saying that."

"Think what you want." Was the calm reply. Marlene watched the scene intently, and though weapons had yet to be fired, she had a feeling it would happen at any minute.

"Sniper at 1200!" Private suddenly shouted, and the four team members looked directly up at Marlene, "Up on the roof!" Marlene flattened herself to the ground, barely saving herself from the volley of fire. Now she was glad those annoying shadows were there.

"Women." Kowalski sighed, glancing up at what was possibly the worst hiding place in history. His first instinct was to shout out the irony that Private was shooting at his own girlfriend, however it was unlikely he'd be believed. Her information was more valuable than he let on, but then rescuing her could be possibly damaging to the plans, as by moving elsewhere he wouldn't have his escape route. He was also low on ammunition, and firing precious rounds to get the team's attention off the 'sniper' was risky. Well, he didn't exactly have a choice. Hopefully she'd have the common sense to run as soon as he'd drawn them away, still, that was his whole strategy out the window.

"Skipper, target's on the move!" Kowalski hissed. He honestly couldn't fathom why their opponent was now moving over open ground back towards the main complex. Maybe it was an attempt to get them off their guard.

"Rico, cover us," Skipper ordered, his eyes following his lieutenant's gaze. He motioned to Private to move, and the youngest member of the team sprinted across the ground like a hare, diving behind a barrel.

"Skippah, I think you got 'im," Private hissed, noting that no shots were fired from the supposed sniper position.

"Stay focused, Private." Skipper criticized as he joined Private behind the same object, "You still got eyes on the target?"

"Uh..." Private immediately looked around to see the dark, but defiantly moving shadow, "Yes sir."

Skipper set off at a run across the field motioning for the rest of the team to follow. Private was right, the sniper was pretty quiet.

"Skipper, maybe we shouldn't pursue," Kowalski informed as he saw a flash of light as their target entered the airplane-hangar like building, "The building's full of civilians..." However, Skipper had already disappeared inside, "My whole strategy out the window..." Kowalski thought aloud, and he had no choice but to order Private, who had paused, even more concerned about the civilians, to continue.


	14. Attack

The door was unlocked, but Skipper still all but kicked it down as he entered the dark theatre, still under renovation, the temporary movie screen held up by a lattice of scaffolding. Amazingly, nobody so much as looked in his direction. Immediately his eyes, and his gun locked onto the target, but he didn't shoot. He continued running down the middle isle of the theatre, Kowalski walking at a brisk pace along the parallel row. Skipper cursed in a mixture of three different dead languages. The positions of the civilians relative to the target were such that it would be impossible to shoot; still, by the time he got to the front of the stage, cutting off the exit behind the screen, the team would have arrived and would cover the back exit. They had him, it would just take a little patience.

The film on the screen rippled as Kowalski stepped onto the stage obscuring the projection, inciting murmurs amongst the crowd; though it was obvious they all merely assumed it was one of their host's famous publicity stunts. They had no idea just how much danger they were really in.

"What are you doing…?" Skipper thought aloud. And how did he get there so fast? Skipper wasn't sure what to do. He knew he could shoot, but that was the most obvious course of action?

"Skippah!" Private shouted. Skipper looked back over his shoulder to see his team burst through the door. In the split second he was distracted, Kowalski's gun arm moved from his side, aiming at a middle aged woman in the front row. The uneasy murmurs from the crowd grew as doubts began to be raised as to whether this was a publicity stunt. Other people, old enough to recognise what had once been a well-known face remained frozen in their places. They knew better than to draw attention to themselves.

Private let out a nervous squeak as the gunshot rang out through the theatre, both of which were drowned out by the scream of the woman as she gaped at the bullet hole in the floor only inches from her foot. Immediately the rest of the room turned into a mad stampede towards the single door, and Skipper could only watch as behind him his team were barely saving themselves from being trampled without hurting the civilians. He was on his own. However Skipper wasn't given time to consider this, as he looked up from the from where he stood only a few feet from the edge of the stage, meters from his target, he noticed a metallic glint from the target's left hand.

The knife flew expertly from the target's hand, and Skipper expected to have it pulled from his chest during an autopsy, but saw the thin stiletto had embedded itself in the barrel of his gun.

Kowalski had thirty seconds before Skipper realised he wouldn't be able to get the knife out of the gun. His hand went to his pocket, where his last clip, which was concerning light, was retrieved. Without warning there was a crack and an inconvenient pain to his head as his mind went familiarly fuzzy and numb, both the gun and clip flying from his hands. He looked up to see his Private sprinting away from where he'd felled him with an infuriatingly predictable kick, and towards the weapon.

Kowalski was on his feet and probably would have gotten there first when when the shot missed him by an inch, causing him to take several steps back. He looked into the audience to see that his Private's weapons expert had managed to get this head and his hand above the crowd long enough to fire a single shot at him. Though Skipper had yet to reach the weapon, he knew he wouldn't beat him to it, despite the fact he was no longer being fired upon by the weapon's specialist who was slowly sinking beneath the stampede. However, another closer and equally important object caught his eye.

"Surrender, K'walski!" Skipper exclaimed, mentally cursing the remainder of his accent that his team's medic/scientist/engineer/strategy analyst/anything-too-boring-for-anyone-else-to-do- person had constantly teased him over on the way there. Still, thinking about that kept the fear from taking over as it had all too many times in the past. He had the gun, yet somehow he felt it was too easy, and too light.

"Missing something?" Kowalski asked tauntingly, holding up the missing clip.

For the next few seconds Skipper's world went red as he launched himself forward and fought viciously for the ammunition clip. At the end of this short time, Skipper stepped back, ending the encounter, grinning.

"How about now?" He smirked, holding up the aforesaid object, though received not even the smallest hint of defeat.

"Check your pocket." Kowalski stated in a tone, indistinguishable to someone who didn't know him so well from his familiar monotone, which Skipper recognised from his childhood. He didn't even bother to check if the weapon was still in his pocket.

"Stop toying with me!"

_"__I don't get it, sir." Private complained, picking himself up from what had been a relatively painless, if embarrassing fall._

_"__It's quite simple," Kowalski replied giving a less than pleased look at the time it took his young Private to regain his footing, "you are redirecting your opponents force in such a way that…"_

_"__No I get that," the ten year old replied, "What I don't get is…" Private wasn't quite sure how to phrase this. He understood how he'd left himself open in his last strike, and he also understood that there were three possible counters Kowalski could have employed._

_"__Good observation, Private," Kowalski answered, reading the expression on the child's face, "you expected me to choose the most painful counter attack, however I chose the more painless of the three."_

_"__Yes sir."_

_"__Tell me, Private; had I chosen the more painful as previous patterns would dictate, basing your calculations on this month's statistics, what do you think the likelihood of your repeating the mistake would be?"_

_"__Um…" Private struggled with the calculations, which had never been his strong point, "52.7%, sir?"_

_"__52.81 but close enough. Now, do you think you will ever make that mistake again now that you have discovered that Jenkins is actually able to laugh?"_

_"__No sir."_

_"__Exactly. Lessons will be conducted in this manor in future."_

Kowalski was no longer standing in front of him but ascending the small ladder to the scaffolding above the unfinished stage, Skipper not far behind. However it wasn't until he was half way up the ladder that he realised why Kowalski had stayed so long examining where it joined the scaffolding. Skipper's eyes searched the room as one part of his brain screamed at the next for options, the ladder swaying dangerously without several of the bolts that secured it. Meanwhile he could see Kowalski walking along the scaffolding towards the side of the stage, only a few meters away, at a leisurely pace of all things.

Inevitably, the ladder tore itself from the scaffolding above. As the ladder fell, Skipper launched himself off, grabbing one of the supports at the side of the stage, and climbing up this until he finally grabbed the metal railing and began to pull himself onto the catwalk.

"Hold 'ill," Rico growled with undisguised annoyance. The target wasn't exactly ducking for cover, but was carefully keeping all non-lethal and not completely pointless targets out of the way. Apparently the target had to be alive for 'questioning'. He was pretty sure Jones had just gone soft. Finally the target stopped, and he was just about to take the shot when the rifle was knocked from his hands, "'ey!"

"Seaborgium, Rico, you'll hit Skipper!" the scientist exclaimed. Fortunately Rico also saw the close proximity between their colleague and the target, and did not attempt to shoot again. Apparently, he wasn't the only strategy analyst to have done the calculations concerning the probability of the bullet ricocheting off the dense scaffolding and hitting Skipper, else so bold a move as to walk directly in Rico's line of sight would not have been attempted. Of course, this also brought up the question as to how the information that they had been instructed not to use lethal force had been leaked, which in turn raised the questions of…

"Predictable as ever, Private." Kowalski commented, removing the gun from Skipper's pocket as the younger man pulled himself up.

"What?" Skipper exclaimed, realising he'd been tricked, though there was little he could do without losing his grip and falling to the stage below.

"_All warfare is based on deception_," Kowalski quoted effortlessly, "Do you recognise that?"

"Sun Tzu, The Art of War." Skipper replied, now on the catwalk, immediately making a clumsy grab for the gun. Kowalski merely stepped backwards and out of the attack's range.

"_Hence when able to attack, we must seem unable_," he continued to quote as he effortlessly blocked what Skipper had considered a signature move. It was clear now that the brief fisticuffs earlier had been no victory on his part. It infuriated Skipper to think this was another 'lesson', though at least now, he was finally getting his opponent's real abilities, "_when using our forces we must seem inactive; when we are near we must make the enemy believe we are far away_… I don't think he meant that far away," Kowalski commented as Skipper missed by a humiliating distance, "_when far away we must make him believe we are near_."

"You were saying." Skipper countered, using one of the lose cables as a whip, snatching the still empty gun, that and it's clip, the key to life or death. The sarcastic remark might have been a small victory against the unusually talkative Kowalski, but this was all Skipper needed to resume his confidence in his abilities.

Despite the fact he now had the weapon, he was still too drunk on his victory to do little more than continue to attack with that same cable. However, though the first attack might have caught his opponent off guard, the second was easily evaded, and as Skipper went for a third attack Kowalski grabbed a spanner left behind by one of the workmen and held it up so the second strike knotted the whip around it, tugging it so that it was snatched from Skipper's hand.

But Skipper hadn't been beaten yet. He used the force of the counter, throwing it all into the punch that came forward with the cables rebound. However, at the last minute his opponent stepped out of the way, and Skipper found himself thrown over the low railing and off the catwalk.

"Good recovery, Private," Kowalski complemented genuinely, "But you left yourself open," As the gun was snatched from Skipper's hand his only grip on the railing was lost and he instinctively grabbed one of the many ropes hanging from the scaffolding to prevent a painful fall. He felt the knot securing it to the belaying pin release, and he was lowered down to the ground.

"Alright, Rico, Skipper's clear!" Skipper heard his lieutenant shout, and a few seconds later, by either luck or skill, Kowalski was narrowly avoiding being shot.

"What was it you were saying about leaving yourself open?" Skipper taunted. He released the rope, though a satisfied look on Kowalski's part immediately told him he probably shouldn't have done. The rope swiftly disappeared up into the darkness, at the same time one of the sets on the other end of the rope hit the stage. There was a cry of pain he recognised as his private's as it landed on the boy's hand.

"Indeed, Private, you've blocked your own cavalry," Kowalski commented as he grabbed a rope parallel to Skipper. The moment his feet touched the ground, Skipper was on the attack, however as his crippling strike was blocked, he was suddenly afraid. Though nothing was said, something had changed as was proven when instead of waiting for another attack, Kowalski instead twisted his injured arm painfully behind his back, and Skipper felt several stitches reopen. Skipper tried to react but a kick to the back of the leg brought him to his knees.

Barely a second later, Skipper was on the ground, listening as the clip taken from his pocket was loaded into the gun.

* * *

"Skippah?!" Private shouted as the team charged onto the stage having freed Private's hand.

"He's good," Rico muttered under his breath as he stared at the empty stage before him. Kowalski, the team's Kowalski of course, was already on the other side of the stage.

"There was only one way they could have gone out," He barked, "We'll cut them off." However the slight red smear left on the stage shook his confidence.


	15. Defeat

**Sorry for the long wait but I decided to completely rewrite my plan for the ending. Updates should be a bit more regular in future, certainly at least once a week.**

**September 24****th**** 1975**

Timothy Jones wished he could say he'd gotten the job because he was the best. He certainly didn't rise through the ranks, or gain anything near the amount of experience he should have before being assigned the role. In fact, he'd only been a year and a bit older than Skipper. No, he'd gotten the job because his Uncle Nigel had called up a few final favours before he was offered 'retirement'. Still, he'd grown up fast since he was thrown off the team, and picked up the job with equal speed.

"I know what you're thinking." Kowalski stated.

"You do, do you?" Jones replied, noting the unannounced presence of one of his 'best and brightest', though he would have preferred if he had not interrupted his musings, "Well if you do, there's no need to tell the rest of the world. What are you here for?"

"If Skipper keeps acting the way he is, he'll finish himself off before anyone else can get to him. He's obsessing, not touching his meals, cutting himself off from the team…"

"Who does that sound like?" Jones countered.

"_I_ know when enough is enough, and _I_ do it in the interests of furthering science," Kowalski countered, "Look, I know he's young and acting like an idiot. Under normal circumstances I'd humour him, which is exactly what I've been doing, except that his arm's not doing to well. As a doctor I cannot, in good conscience, allow him to neglect such a wound. I also can't have him weak and depressed while the team's morale is less than spectacular."

"Hm," Jones was now staring off into space. After a few awkward seconds in which Kowalski considered waving a hand in front of his face he was so lost in thought, Jones' attention returned to him, "Tell me truthfully, K'walski, what manor of man am to take someone so young and destructive and send him into battle for my own ends?"

"A smart one, sir," Kowalski replied without missing a beat, "those are the qualities that normally make him quite effective."

"Maybe I asked the wrong person," the ex-Private muttered, "Anyway, are you asking me to put you in charge again?"

"Certainly not!" Kowalski for the first time in the conversation, paused, "I actually don't know what to do. That's why I'm here, sir…" There was a knock at the door. Kowalski glanced nervously at Jones, as the knock almost undoubtedly belonged to Skipper, "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on Rico…"

"Middle panel behind the desk." Jones replied calmly, and waited for Kowalski to disappear into the secret passage before shouting: "Come in!"

"Um…" Private nervously entered the room. He'd never been here before, and somehow the place recalled the memory of the first time he was called to the head master's office, "Good morning, sir?"

"Good morning," Jones replied in a genial tone, as he sensed his second replacement's unease, "Do come in." he prompted after the boy remained hovering in the doorway.

"Thank you, sir."

"Are you concerned about the mission?" Jones asked.

"Yes sir. It didn't go very well."

"Take consolation in the fact Rico was able to control himself and you didn't bring back a body, though the way my negotiations are going…"

"Did K'walski tell you why Skippah's so upset?" Jones was frankly surprised Private was aware of his previous appointment, but that was not the most important matter at the current time.

"No, I merely assumed… Skipper's an unusual person. Sometimes he finds it difficult to cope with certain things; especially if they're problems he can't punch or kick."

"I suppose it could be that… Did Skippah tell you how other K'walski escaped?"

"He turned in his report but I think I could get more _facts_ from a radio drama."

"Skippah was taken hostage, essentially. I think it was what was said between them, after we lost contact…"

"That could have pushed him over," Jones tossed a small document from the centre of his desk, "as I already said; the official report seems to be missing a lot. Would you mind filling me in?"

"If Skippah didn't see fit to tell you…"

"Skipper doesn't see fit to tell me a lot of things, but if I didn't somehow find out, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Alright, well, we weren't in the fight at all. Skipper rushed in ahead of us, then we got trapped behind the crowd, then we couldn't shoot because they were too close, then one of the sets was dropped on my hand and… Can you just wait for my report?" Jones noticed the pleading look on the boy's face. He reached behind him for a sheet of paper and a pen and handed it to the Penguin.

"Why don't you write what happened now?" The superior offered, smiling at the grateful look in the boy's eye as he took the pen and paper. Jones remembered being called to Uncle Nigel's office when he was relatively new to his team. Rico had disobeyed one of Skipper's orders and gotten himself sent to hospital with half a dozen broken bones. Jones' personal preference had been for drawing, which was exactly what Nigel let him do.

A bout a half hour and many more cross outs and rewrites later he was handed the paper. He skimmed through most of the first part which, aside from the team's lack of involvement, Skipper had described accurately, but when he reached the part where Skipper's report had abruptly ended, he studied every word.

_…When we caught up to them we were in the prop room behind the stage. It was pretty much a dead end; we were stood in front of the only door. It was rather hard to see, the lighting wasn't very good and all the masks and costumes cast strange shadows about the place, but they were about ten or twenty feet away from us. I think the first thing I noticed was Skipper's arm, the blood was just starting to soak through his shirt, and the way his arm was being held there, it must have been painful. Ironically, Kowalski says the effective compression saved his life. _

_Kowalski, our one, didn't really seem to know what to do. I suppose the whole think was a second in commands nightmare. Rico, as you've probably guessed, didn't wait for orders before levelling his sights on the two, but fortunately didn't shoot._

_"Kowalski, give him some options," the target stated. At least that snapped our Kowalski out of his kind of semi trance and he started writing down options on his clipboard._

_"Stand down Rico," He ordered, "there isn't a trick shot in the world that wouldn't hit Skipper." _

_ "Wha' 'o I do?" Rico asked without taking his eyes off the target. Skipper stumbled, not enough to give Rico a clear shot though, before he was forced to his feet. _

_"He's on a time line," I whispered, announcing the conclusion I'd drawn from the movements, "Skippah's going to collapse in a matter of minutes."_

_"I know… I know…!" The second in command hissed. He'd let his clipboard drop to his side, at a loss for options. I guess Skipper saw this too, and what he said was why we're all so worried about him._

_"Shoot!" He shouted. I don't think I've ever heard him sound that desperate. It was the absurdity of it that prevented Rico from following the order as a knee jerk reaction, or so I assume, "I'm dead either way."_

_I simply didn't believe it. I don't care what Skipper said, family is family, and I told him as much in as clear terms as I could manage. Skipper just gave me that look though; the one he always gives me when I say something he deems naive. The part that still scares me was he seemed kind of calm then, like he'd already accepted, well, it wasn't inevitable because he's here._

_"They won't do it Private," the target correctly analysed. I don't know if he was taunting, reminiscing, or dare I hope sympathetic to our position when he continued, but Skipper didn't take too kindly to it, "If it makes you feel any better I wouldn't have."_

_"Take the shot!" Skipper shouted, and he'd lost that strange calm; a kind of eye of the hurricane, "If I go down, I won't have a forth failed mission." Our Kowalski seemed to agree with him, but nobody did anything. Rico's actions spoke for all of us as he lowered his weapon. _

_Then something in the situation changed, I suppose it was when the other Kowalski checked the time. After that, things happened rather quickly; I can only guess he knew your men were almost there. Now that Skipper's told us it was his only shot it was a rather risky move, but he hit one of the ropes with this and disappeared into a trap door. That was when your reinforcements arrived, and you were there when we turned the place upside down but we didn't find so much as a footprint._

"Can I go now?" Private asked.

"No," Jones answered, resisting the pleading look. He picked up the phone, and Private all but winced as one of many numbers he knew off by heart was requested, "PJ, I want you… No this isn't a wrong number, Rico, it's just a nickname… Yes I don't care what his orders are, I want Skipper in my office before lunch… He says he's not well enough to be moved? A likely story, I swear he hasn't aged a day past eight… Put him on and we'll see about that…!"

Even Private had to giggle as Skipper was given a thorough telling off over the phone. Jones smiled at him, and he could sense the conversation was almost as much for his sake as to get Skipper into the office, "…Yes PJ, even if you really are on some snow topped mountain in Gurffuljicklestan, I still expect you in my office in an hour and a half," Jones hung up the phone with a click and turned to Private, "I think I'll put on a pot of tea while we wait, and Shauna made me take in a tin of biscuits today..."

"Sir?" Private fiddled nervously with his tie, "would you tell me a story?"

"Lunicorns or King Arthur?"

"I was thinking of a story from when you were Private." Jones paused, debating what to say.

"I think we ought to let the matter rest for now."

"I really would like to hear one sir." Jones studied the boy intently for a few seconds

"How about this one: it was back in early '44 and we were shot down somewhere in the middle of Germany, we had no idea where…" Private opened his mouth to speak, but Jones had already anticipated the request, "Alright, here's one I heard from Lola. Summer '55 and Skipper was supposed to pull off an armoured car robbery. The problem was they'd held the meeting at the 'Cabana, Lola had taken it on herself and Tony to make sure it didn't happen…"

* * *

**September 26****th**** 1975**

Skipper tried his best to stay awake as he puzzled the chessboard, noting down every move on a notepad beside him. It helped him think to have the chessboard there, he had no idea why. He moved the king forward one space, then moved it back. No, that had already been anticipated.

"How's the arm?" Skipper looked up from his chessboard to see his second in command poking his head into the room.

"Stop asking about the arm, Kowalski." He replied, returning to the game.

"I'm technically your doctor, I have to ask." Kowalski answered unshaken. It was the lack of sleep.

"Fine," Skipper snapped, pushing the board and notepad aside. The scientist was obviously going to remain lurking in the doorway commenting on mundane details until he annoyed him into speaking, "You did a terrible job and it hurts."

"Then maybe a strategy meeting will take your mind off things," Skipper dragged himself from the table, and into the main room of the concrete base. As much as skipper was expecting to be the one to lose his temper first, he wasn't.

* * *

"…I don't care if Jones likes us to all line up nicely on the battlefield and get shot at like gentlemen, but I am not going to be at a disadvantage because I won't play dirty!" The lieutenant snapped, pressing his pencil against his clipboard so hard the tip broke. This was immediately sharpened, though most likely only to be broken again, "There has to be something we can use as leverage: Family, close friends, money…"

"This is exactly why I didn't want any of you getting involved," Skipper snapped, "It's my fault, all of this."

"You can't just arbitrarily blame stuff on yourself, Skipper! You blame yourself for Blowhole, that's my fault. You blame yourself for what's his name, the snail shell guy, he's Private's fault, you blame yourself for that Clemson agent losing it, and that was…"

"Let me spell it out in facts for you," Skipper snapped, "There is nothing you can use against him. He doesn't care about money, and he can always steal more, and everybody we could possibly use fits into two categories: dead or would be preferred dead, and the reason it's my fault is because I fit into the 'been betrayed by' subcategory of would be preferred dead."

"That actually makes a lot of sense." Kowalski concurred after a few seconds thought.

"Well I'm glad we're talking, even if it's not particularly positive." Jones announced.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're too soft for your job," Skipper commented, "Anyway, we definitely need a new approach, so if anybody has any ideas even if their completely crazy, I'm willing to listen," there was no reply, "Alright, meeting adjourned."

_Skipper despite his best efforts winced as he was forced to his feet by a painfully strong grip on his bleeding arm, the weapon with the single shot all the while present. This wasn't going well. "Why are you going through with this insane revenge?" Skipper questioned. He'd had that on his mind for some time, as had just about everybody involved. As his Kowalski often complained, it made no logical sense, "Even the math says it's a bad idea."_

_The response that followed might have been the only time Skipper heard him get close to anything like a laugh, though it more of a scoff. It was harsh with a sharp, bitter edge, "What have you left me to lose, Private?"_


	16. Letters

**October 3****rd**** 1976**

"Marlene! What are you doing here?!" Skipper exclaimed. He'd turned around to pick up a chess piece that had fallen off the board and well, there she was. For the first few seconds, he even thought he was seeing things.

"I came to see you," She answered replacing the piece on the board, "We never really talked again."

"Marlene, how did you get in here?" Skipper continued to question, "This is a top secret facility, a well-kept secret for 25 years; I don't even think Dr Blowhole could…"

"There was an open window," Marlene crossed her arms and anybody but Private wouldn't realise the subtle hints this was a defence mechanism, "So what do you want to talk about first, business or us?"

"Aren't they both business?" Skipper replied. Sure he was being cold, even by his standards, but he could never be sure she wasn't just using him again, well, he wasn't sure about the again, but he couldn't take the chance. Unlike Private, his name for non-strategic second chances was inexcusable security risk.

"Fine we'll talk both at the same time," She answered unshaken, "Business: I've got information you want, and you've got information I want. Us: give me a description of two people named Skipper and two people named Marlene, and I can bet you none of them will have anything in common."

"So what is this information?" Skipper asked, ignoring the 'us' part of the conversation.

"What I'm trying to prove, is because a) I'm only using you half the time, and b) your scientist hasn't got a crazy secretary who says shoot on sight, you've got no worries about my future," Skipper was starting to look particularly uncomfortable, so Marlene switched topics, "I want your file on your new fifth penguin, and I've got some information about your team that you will really want to hear, especially you."

"You must really want that file if you're starting this up again." That really didn't come out right.

"Alright, I'll give you this for free: the boss is seriously freaked out by whoever this guy is," Marlene studied him a few seconds, "Do you somehow think you have to be using me to spend time together?"

"If I'm using you we're both even."

"Then go grab the file and I'll spill my guts over a romantic evening."

* * *

**October 10****th**** 1976**

"A word, Skipper," Jones ordered, poking his head into main room of the HQ. Promptly Skipper followed, his movements suggesting he knew exactly what this was about. Skipper climbed the ladder to the rooftop training area and shut the submarine like hatch, disguised as a fishbowl of all things, and faced his superior.

"All ears, sir." Skipper replied. Jones studied him for a few seconds before continuing.

"I got a call from Lola," Jones explained, "She's gotten some interesting information out of a source she wouldn't reveal, though it seems to have originated in the enemy camp. Apparently several people along with our resident criminal are not very happy with the resurrection of a supposedly defunct player, namely the Rats."

"Everyone in New York knew that weeks ago." Skipper answered suspiciously.

"According to Lola, K'walski thinks it's one of you."

"What?!" Skipper exclaimed. Jones was well aware Skipper knew all this already from Marlene. He was best to play along though. He'd never met a person who was better at consistently denying something than Skipper, either of them.

"The whole thing's suspiciously Penguin," Jones elaborated, "The Rats were being hunted to extinction after their leader and his second in commands were killed, suddenly they get a new mysterious boss, and through a series of careful embezzlements from Consolidated Amalgamated Steel, they suddenly become dangerous enough to get just about everybody's attention."

"None of my men would ever go that far," Skipper replied, "They aren't naive enough to think they'd be able to taste that kind of power and be able to give it up."

"Think about it Skipper. Make some enquiries." Jones replied, heading back down to the main room. He was wondering which one of his teammates Skipper was going to pin it on.

* * *

**September 28****th**** 1976**

"Mail!" Skipper announced, entering the HQ carrying a stack of letters. Sure, they could go to the mailbox like normal people, but that would just take all the excitement and anticipation out of it, "Alright, what have we got here…" He scanned first letter, "Yup, it's for Rico." He tossed the man the letter, which he eagerly opened with a nearby machete, "Got another one for Rico, nope, sorry, other Rico. Private," He tossed the letter to the youngest member of the team, "Remind me later to send that to Jones' analysts for any kind of coded messages. We'll tell him it was delayed in the post."

"Alright, Skippah," Private replied.

"This one's for me, Rico, 'nother one for you… Well, what do we have here?" Skipper held up a letter, inspecting it carefully, before bursting out into laughter, "Look at this Rico, nerd boy poked his head out of the lab long enough to get his first girlfriend."

"Give me that!" Kowalski protested, making a grab for the letter, just as Skipper tossed it to Rico who opened the letter.

"'E ain' gonna have her long," Rico announced, unfolding the letter, "Starts with 'y' science hatin'…'"

"Personal, Rico!" Kowalski snatched the letter from his hand.

"What's her name, Kowalski?" Skipper asked.

"Doris, if you must know." The scientist snapped, slipping the letter into the pocket of his lab coat.

"Alright, alright," Skipper grumbled, "You've always made fun of my love letters."

"I don't suppose there's anything for me, Skippah?" Private asked. Skipper shuffled through the pile, tossing the boy an envelope, "Thanks." Private turned the letter over, having noticed there was no from address or stamp, nor did he recognise the stationary or the precise hand that 'To Private' was written in the centre of the envelope in. Still, he opened the letter, and started to read the neat, old fashioned script that covered a small portion of the page.

"Everything alright, Private?" Skipper asked. Immediately Private forced a smile over his fear widened eyes and ghostly pale face.

"Yes," Private replied. He glanced sideways at the scientist, before re-reading the letter, and glancing carefully through the evidence. After that he replaced the message in his pocket, intending to burn it at the nearest convenient time, "Skippah, where's other Rico?"

* * *

"I don' think ya friend has 'ny choice," Rico answered, handing the boy back the letter, "'e's got th' photographs a'right; I don' think there's really nothin' y' can do ta stop 'im."

"And I can't go to Skipper," Private continued, "Well, he wouldn't… It's one of his flaws that…"

Obviously 'ee knew you'd tell someone, probably me, 'cause even if a tol' Pri'ate he wouldn' believe 'e, so this ain' one of 'is mind tricks…"

"I guess he really does just want me to follow the instructions, though you'd think they'd work more in our favour than his. I actually thought you'd be the best authority on this kind of stuff, no offence, I understand you're trying to…" Private started back down the hall, "Thank you for your time," the kid's eyes lowered to the floor, childlike eyes one or two steps below tears. Then he stopped a few meters away, and stood thinking for several seconds before turning around, "Do you think if I could threaten him into giving me the photos?" It was an odd question to ask, especially for Private, but Rico didn't seem to take much notice.

"No offence 'id, but you'd need ta be standin' 'n front of 'n army t' do tha'.

* * *

Rico opened the letter as soon as it was handed to him.

"By the way, we decrypted it for you," Skipper commented.

"I go' nothin' to hide." Rico answered.

"Still, thanks for tellin' us which codes you'll be using in the next month," Skipper commented pointing to the first line of the message.

"Guess I'll have t' think a new ones." Rico answered as Skipper left, watching the kid congratulate himself on his victory. Now there was a good thing about always being thought of as the mindless psycho, nobody ever suspected you'd do a little anticipating and countering of your own.

_"Business before pleasure: next month's ciphers are numbers 4, 13, 15 and 16, 24 and 25, 33, 42, 43, 44, 46, 47, 49, 57, 58, 59, 61, 64 and 65 in that order._

_How are Skipper Kowalski, Rico and Private? I suppose they aren't completely restarting the Penguins from scratch, they probably had help from Jones' sleeper cells, but then you didn't do it alone either. Dangerously ambitious of them, still, I hear there's a high probability of them retaking New York. _

_Johnny suggest letting him create small team to sabotage competitor to counter attacks before it gets too late in the year."_

Rico read. He took out a pen and started to carefully underline words 4, 13, 15 and 16, continuing until he had underlined all the words corresponding to the numbers written in the first sentence. The new message read as follows:

_Kowalski restarting Penguins from sleeper cells dangerously high probability of retaking New York suggest create competitor to counter before too late._

Rico set the paper alight, allowing himself to watch it burn before starting on the necessary enquires to make his move.

"I just finished developing the photographs," The team weapons expert listened to Moon Cat O'Malley report over the phone, "Rico knew Manfredi and Johnson were undercover cops, and according to this, those two knew a lot of things he didn't want to make it back to Jones."

"Good," Rico answered.

"I haven't gotten to the interestin' stuff yet," O'Malley continued, his voice quavering more than usual such was his excitement, "I've got something here sayin' Barry was going to take care of them for him; he'd even ordered the supplies and arranged to have them lured to the day spa."

"Than's Moon Ca'." Rico answered before hanging up. He was going to have to have a serious talk with 'Rico'.

* * *

"Ah always suspect' 'oo," Rico accused, "'ippah say ah was jus' jellous."

"I've done a lot a ba' things, ya going ta have t' be a bit more spe'ific." The other Rico countered dryly. The two scowled at each other as they had at almost every one of their encounters but there was now substance behind the threats.

"Y' killed Ma'fredi and Johnson."

"I didn' do _tha'_."

"'eah righ'," Rico tossed him Moon Cat's photographs of the documents, "Mo'ive, means, 'nd a prediction of 'xactly wha' happened. Don' try tellin' me ya psychic."

"Fine, I wa' going t' kill them bu' somebody ha' beat me to I'," Rico countered, "If y' don' believe me, readin' a little further i'll say I wan'ed t' interrogate them firs'. 'ey had info'mation on Jones ah wan'ed even more than I didn' want their data on 'e getting' back ta Jones."

"Fine," Unfortunately the other Rico did make sense, as much as he would prefer him to be lying. It would be a lot easier to get the bird in the hand than the one in the bush. It wasn't impossible though, and he'd avenge his friends no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else.

"If ya thinkin' join 'nd destroy, it won' work."

"ah wasn'." Rico denied, but that was an idea.


	17. The King Rat

"Please, just listen!" Kowalski pleaded over the phone, "It's not me!"

"Girl trouble," Skipper commented aloud, though was ignored.

"…Whatever you've heard, it's not me… Yes, go ahead and investigate… I promise you, it's not me! Those nine years were longer for me than for you, and I wouldn't just throw my life away after that… Look, if I'm lying go ahead, hunt me down and turn the contents of your lab lose on me… I'll tell you once I find out who it actually is… I love you too."

"I do not envy you," Skipper laughed, "If I can testify as to your lack of social life equalling a lack of other girlfriends, I'm happy to."

"How much of that did you hear?" the scientist asked, looking about as embarrassed as possible.

"I've got the gist of it," Skipper smirked, "Doris thinks she's being cheated on."

"Yeah," the scientist lied, "You know, Rico wants you to sign a transfer order for a rather large quantity of explosives and other weapons. He wants them moved to an abandoned building somewhere near Hoboken. He says he wants them moved there as an emergency stash. I don't believe him, especially because he and his sworn enemy are working together."

"Well I'm just glad they're doing something other than destroying our rec room in another one of their showdowns," Skipper commented as the scientist replaced the phone, "show me the order and I'll sign it. Good luck with your girl."

Skipper grabbed his coat and had just started up the ladder when Private charged into the room, almost knocking Kowalski's clipboard out of his hand.

"Where are you going?!" the youngest member of the team demanded retrieving his own coat.

"Where are _you_ going?" Skipper countered.

"I'm coming with you."

"You don't even know where I'm going."

"You haven't told me, but I'd still like to come." Private obviously wasn't going to be swayed and Skipper allowed the barely a recruit to follow him out of the HQ, though he was curious as to why Private had demanded that he come.

"I've arranged to meet some acquaintances," Skipper answered. Private knew that meant contacts, "I'm already late; we'll talk on the way."

* * *

"Ringtail, I want this to be a real party," Skipper ordered as he inspected the Copacabana. He really needed to impress these people, "Go all out." A gigantic grin spread across Julian's face and Skipper began to regret his words.

"Skippah, would you please stop running around like a headless chicken and listen!?" Private pleaded.

"Rico killed Barry because he was going to sell his identity to the highest bidder," Skipper answered disinterestedly, "and pinned the murder on K'walski by planting the gun from the evidence locker."

"You seem awfully calm about cold blooded murder!" Private continued to protest.

"In two years you will be too," was Skipper's reply, "The point is, nobody but us knows he's dead."

"But Skippah, these people were all with the Penguins. They'd all have known Barry, and they'd certainly recognise you."

"A person can change a lot in six years," Skipper answered, "and the last time someone here saw me I was ten."

"But they can't get twenty years younger!"

"So I'm the new Barry who gets to break the news, that will keep them interested. I just needed the name to arrange the meeting."

* * *

"You've got some nerve," Darla Bacall drawled, waving away an eager to please Mort, "you know the boss has a contract out on Rico."

"Who says I'm here on behalf of my boss?" Skipper answered, "New Barry, new rules."

"Not convinced." A wiry man with cold snake-like eyes hissed.

"May I remind you that I have my all my predecessor's files, which is why you are still listening." Skipper countered, and by the discontented murmur he got, things were going well. Hopefully, he could trade an imaginary partnership for some very real information.

"My apologies for my lateness," a Spanish accented voice announced and Skipper spun around to see the end of his charade incarnate. It wasn't the man he recognised as Antonio, some of the Penguin's newer blood, which spelled doom for Skipper, but the woman who accompanied him. Cupid Kitka was currently staring aghast at the undercover agent, and after a few seconds of close examination, shouted out:

"Private!"

"Yes, fresh out of our favourite special agent's spy academy, man of a million faces and all that," a familiar English voice announced, brushing past the astonished girl and her less than trusting date, "He probably had you for a while; it's something they did when they redesigned basic that makes them so good at impressions," Private, swinging a golf club of all things like a walking stick, collar turned up with a bright red bow tie finishing off the look paraded fearlessly before all manner of weapons pointed at him and Skipper, "this will be the third Barry I've bumped off this week. By the way, the name's Tux."

"We meet again, Mr Tux," The gunslinger/mini golfer known only as the Amarillo Kid narrowed his eyes, "move out of the way so I can collect my million."

"Oh, a contract is it?" Mr Tux replied, "Well that changes everything, doesn't it," Skipper, much to his own amazement found the weapon he'd intended to try to make a desperate get away with removed from his hand.

"Private, what are you doing!" Skipper hissed. Private, however, gave no indication that he recognised Skipper, in fact acting as if he intended to collect the reward himself.

"You know I offed a 'Private' this morning," Tux announced coolly, "You all sure this is the Private your boss was talking about?"

"Yeah, this ones the right height and build, even if he is a man of a million faces," the leading Bacall sister answered, "Now move out of the way and maybe me and my girls will let you go."

"Alright then, as far as I understand it," Mr Tux announced, "the contract goes to whoever fires the fatal shot, dead or alive, am I correct?" Skipper was now starting to get slightly worried. Maybe Private had an evil twin, but if it was Private, Skipper was nervous anyway. He honestly didn't think the kid had it in him to even act so ruthless, "Am I also correct in my knowledge that your boss is one of the foremost authorities on ballistics in this country, and so would be able to tell who shot who?"

"He's up to somethin'," the Amarillo Kid whispered to the person next to him, "I know that tone."

"Well when you put those together, if I was to hypothetically dispose of your Private myself, then none of you would win the contract," Mr Tux smiled deviously as his audience lowered their weapons.

"That kid's the fastest draw I've ever seen," Amarillo whispered to his new 'buddy' as he lowered his own weapon, "Besides me o' course. He'd get our target before we get near him."

"I can tell none of you are in a very good mood to make a proposition to," the mysterious Mr Tux announced, "so I'm going to take 'Private' with me as insurance."

"You do realise we are better off hoping the Kid is wrong and taking our chances?" Savio hissed, "I assume you are the real replacement of the traitor, and will just take him back to Rico."

"Wrong," Tux motioned to Skipper to start moving towards the door and Skipper mouthed something along the lines of 'are you crazy?' back at him, "Mr Tux works for no one, and I quite obviously want something from you worth more than one contract."

* * *

"Mr Tux?" Skipper inquired once they were certain they weren't being followed.

"Something I left behind a long time ago," Private answered grimly and Skipper didn't press further. Some things belonged in the past, as Skipper was well aware.

"Good job," Skipper complemented, "I might put you up for Private First Class soon."

"What was it Nigel said about the heat of the moment?" Private chuckled, "You know, before all this, I had my heart set on trodding the boards?" then the boy's face once again darkened, "I don't suppose there's something you want to tell me, Skippah?"

"I can't give you any hints about the test." Skipper answered, looking slightly bewildered.

"You were the one who took over the Rats, weren't you!" Private shouted loud enough to make a scene if the street wasn't so quiet; fighting back the tears that threatened to emerge and prevent Skipper from taking him seriously.

"Whatever gave you that idea?!"

"They all said there was a contract out on Private, right?"

"I guess."

"Skippah, doesn't other K'walski refer to you as Private?" Private questioned. Skipper still seemed determined to act as if he had no idea what Private was talking about, "What I'm trying to say is, they were after a Private. They had a description, and it didn't match me."

"I don't see what you're getting at," Skipper answered warily, "It didn't match me either or they would have recognised me earlier."

"But Skipper, you said the last time one of them saw you, you were ten," Private continued, "and they said they had a description which matched you. The contract might be out on you, not me."

"I don't know what you're trying to accuse me of apart from being a good arch enemy."

"I always thought your disagreement would be more of a personal vendetta. If I agreed with revenge and you betrayed me, I probably wouldn't put you in the same category as Jones and allow anyone who wants money to exact my revenge," Skipper was now starting to look a bit more thoughtful, "Unless, you turned it into business, in which case, if I made decisions like this based on mathematical calculations, there would probably be an exception."

"That's it!" Skipper suddenly exclaimed, much to Private's confusion.

"That's what?"

* * *

Skipper could hear the Rats in the next room shouting and generally expressing their loyalty to the Penguin who had stepped in and taken the lead. Then the shouts died down to a murmur, in anticipation of their soon to arrive leader. Suddenly the room went quiet. Skipper grimaced. That was his cue.

"The operation is moving along beautifully," The Penguin started to speak, "The Sewer Rats were the best. I emphasise _were_," there was a murmur of discontent. Everyone in that room was well aware of their unexpected fall from power, "But we're going to be even better now…"

"Hands up!" one of the rats stood behind him shouted, and the Penguin spun around as he was alerted to the presence of his subordinate. Skipper made no move to follow the order, looking on calmly at the no longer mysterious leader of the rats, "I don't know how he got past us, boss, but…"

"I've got a message for your boss," The party crasher announced.

"Yeah," the Rat smirked, "sure you…"

"At ease," the man who commanded the attention of the entire room ordered, "he is quite right. Now if you excuse me gentlemen…" The two penguins left the main room and a bunch of very confused rats behind them, stepping out into the smaller room Skipper had entered from.

"What are you doing, Jones!" the Skipper exclaimed, glaring at his superior as soon as he was quite sure nobody else was listening. The ex-Private had thrown him off the trail by reporting the information himself, even turning him on his own team. That was probably why he hadn't suspected him; he'd never thought the outwardly gentle Englishman would go to such lengths. He'd worked it out as follows: neither he nor Private had been recognised when they entered, and it wasn't until 'Mr Tux' had hinted that he might be in disguise that they had become certain he was the Private they were after. That left only one 'Private' who happened to be around his height, "I want answers!" Skipper finally snapped when nothing was said. Jones paused, carefully considering his words.

"I'll do whatever it takes to save you." He stated plainly.

"And I'm fine with that, as long as it doesn't destroy you," Skipper answered and just to give his point more emphasis, continued, "as well as the entire city."

"I can control it." Jones answered confidently. Skipper shook his head.

"That's what _they_ said. And I thought you were supposed to be the naive idealist," Jones obviously still wasn't sold, "So it's not good enough for your entire team, and almost you, to make it clear they're perfectly capable of being corrupted, you need to do it yourself. Or are you just trying to learn to think like the enemy?"

"Skipper, it's different…"

"You take over a gang, you work your way up to the big leagues then you join the bad guys…"

"No Skipper, the whole thing will be on my terms!" Jones snapped. Skipper just couldn't appreciate the fact he'd planned the whole thing out from every angle and was well aware of the risks. He'd even set safeguards in place should things go wrong, even to the point of allowing the two Ricos to wire the whole base to self-destruct remotely if he went out of control, "The first part is right, but I don't join him, he joins me, or I destroy him. Call it Operation: Join or_ Be _Destroyed"

"This country already has an army, Jones," Skipper countered, "If you want to use the brute force tactic you don't need to build your own."

"Skipper, I'm not going to let you destroy yourself…"

"If you go through with this, I won't need to. If you went over to the other side," Skipper stopped, "If they made me hunt you down, I'd have lost almost as much as K'walski. You and the team are pretty much it, you know. And if I go crazy too, then we'd have three crazy villains running around New York. Not pretty."

"Alright PJ," Jones finally admitted, his imagination's rendition of the idea being something he wanted to forget as soon as possible, "You win."

"Good."

"It's not an unconditional surrender."

"I'm not your boss; I can't reinstate your Uncle Nigel."

"I want to keep the Rats going," Jones warned, "I'm happy to employ any security measures you recommend and I will give my department explicit instructions to use any means necessary to neutralise me should the worst happen, but I want to do this alone for the simple reason that I would not drag another person down with me. I can't see any other option than this."

"You might have survived once but you weren't the one who got the absolute power. I can't let you go through with this." Skipper refused, "You do know why we work in teams?"

"I'm not trying to save the world, just you." Jones half pleaded.

"If you don't shut this down, I have no qualms about shutting you down now."

Jones' fist clenched and he seemed to stiffen a moment, almost as if he was afraid.

"I'd like to see you try."

"I hope you heard what you just said. It sounds a lot like something somebody else said, and also implies that your safety precautions would be useless," Skipper answered in a dangerously insubordinate tone, "If you're desperate enough to turn me against my own team, even if you claim you're trying to 'save me', I have my doubts about how much the power now means to you." Skipper could see this had finally had the effect he'd been looking for on his superior, and was glad he was not far enough gone that he had been able to see it.

"Skipper, think it would be wise of me to take a brief absence from the Department." The ex-Private answered in a humbled tone. That was when he saw the fleeting glimpse of a smile on the second Private's expression, but not the smile he'd wanted to see. Cautiously he walked towards the larger room, though doing so as briskly as would not arouse suspicion.

"What are you doing?" Skipper demanded.

"Shutting this down." Jones answered.

"I think we can wait a while for that," Skipper answered hurriedly, "There may still be some use…"

"King!" Jones shouted and the gigantic bodyguard that had accosted Skipper entered the room, "Pass the word to those who it may concern, Contingency 1. They all know their jobs and I want total secrecy."

"Contingency 1?" Skipper asked, "You aren't…"

"Setting it up to collapse from the inside," Jones answered, "for all your talk about it being dangerous, I think perhaps you should have cast a more careful glance over your own plan to use the unwelcome competition to lure enemies including Blowhole, Clemson, and K'walski into the open all at once."


	18. At the Copacabana

**October 23rd 1975**

"K'walski?" Private called, jogging towards Kowalski who was just exiting his lab. Private had a manila folder under his arm, which he promptly handed to the scientist as soon as he caught up, "I don't suppose you'd be able to replace these in the archives for me? I wasn't supposed to have borrowed them."

"Sure…" Kowalski answered, "Is this the Roberts file?" then the scientist paused, flipping through the pages as Private started to all but bite his nails, "How did you get this?"

"Oh, I borrowed them unofficially." Private lied.

"One second." The scientist excused himself re-entering his lab before Private could say anything and much to his younger teammate's horror, returning with an identical file. With a magnifying glass Kowalski inspected the two copies, finally looking down at the noticeably squirming private, "This is probably the best forgery I've ever seen. I wouldn't have known it wasn't the original apart from the fact I borrowed it _officially_ this morning and locked it in my safe."

"I guess… maybe…" Private stuttered trying to find a suitable excuse, but eventually resigned himself to silence.

"There's a difference, though," Kowalski continued, showing Private the same page from both copies, "Notice the absence from the original of half a page of text describing Miss Robert's exploits as one of our agents, one of the few things she never was."

"I don't know!" Private denied almost childishly, "I had no idea what was in there I was just told to substitute this for the originals then destroy them."

"Anything else?"

"I was told to send this to the Daily Central as well, making it seem like it came from Jones," Private handed the scientist the letter, which was promptly opened and inspected with equal caution.

"Absolutely beautiful," the scientist complemented, seemingly more interested in the quality of the documents than the fact they were forgeries, "the writing is almost perfect and I consider myself a bit of an expert on that. If I didn't know they were fake I would have thought this was really written by Marlene Roberts the day before she died. Well, Skipper will certainly be interested in…"

"NO!" Private interrupted, actually standing between Kowalski and the hallway to the main room of the HQ, "They really don't do any harm. They actually salvage her reputation."

"But Private there has to be something else going on," Kowalski answered unmoved, "if it's who I think it is, and it's a 87.2234% chance it is, he doesn't just do good things out of kindness. Anyway, Skipper might be able to trace…"

"Kowalski, other K'walski knows all about Doris!" Private pleaded desperately, "the real Doris. Just replace the papers and forget we ever spoke."

"Private, are you blackmailing me?" The scientist questioned, equally unsure of weather he was dreaming or not.

"I'm not… Fine, I am!" Private snapped, "Put these in the archive or I'll tell Skipper everything about your boyfriend!" Private didn't know what he expected to happen next. This was something he'd never done even as Mr Tux and he certainly would never be able to bring himself to do again.

"This case must be driving us all crazy if little Private has abandoned his principles," the scientist sighed and proceeded to scribble a short note on his clip board.

"Where are you doing?" Private asked.

"This is my letter of resignation," the scientist replied dejectedly, "sure, I could replace the records, but however you found out, somebody else probably will the same way at some point, and what will they make me do? Anyway, it's not like I'd get much of a career stuck in golden boy's shadow."

"No you can't do that!" Private demanded, "Skippah needs you! Even if you never will get that promotion, what Skippah doesn't realise is that for a lot of stuff you're really the one in charge. If you hadn't been there he'd still be out there on his own running blind into traps."

"'Skippah' would be the first one to throw me off the team if he found out."

"Alright, K'walski, but you really ought to do something neater than a note." Mr Tux answered. Private could feel Mr Tux taking over; at least he convinced himself as much. It was easier to stay as squeaky clean as he prided himself on being when the times he did break his own rules, it was Mr Tux's fault, "I mean, Skippah will make you type up another one anyway. Actually, while you're at it, you can show me that new, what did you call it, word processor?"

"Well, I suppose so…" the depressed second in command answered, and began to describe various features in overly technical language as he moved back towards the lab. All Mr Tux had to do now was remember if it was the hot sauce or the ketchup that contained the amnesia spray, and everything would be right as rain.

* * *

"Skipper I honestly don't know what happened," the scientist frantically tried to explain, "I know I prepared some kind of notes, I just don't know where I put them."

"What I can't believe is that you're making excuses for forgetting your homework," Skipper answered, "and you call _me_ golden boy behind my back. Well, you know it off by heart anyway; I can let you off once."

"Yes, of course I do, in fact, the statistics for…" the scientist paused, and for the first time in his life the numbers didn't seem to be there. The pride of his existence, his brain, was giving him nothing but file not found, "I'm sorry Skipper, I honestly can't remember."

"Well that's just wonderful. Absolutely beautiful. Jones is on vacation, his replacement, Roger of all people, is ordering me to add an extra fifteen minutes to your lunch breaks for singing practice, the Rats are… Put that down, Rico!" Skipper snapped, catching his weapons expert out of the corner of his eye as he attempted to replace a captured bishop on the chess board, "And now Rico is cheating at chess."

"Ba' morale's y' fault." The other Rico reminded

"Give me one reason why I still need you around." Skipper grumbled.

"Now that, I remember," the scientist interrupted, "your exact words were as follows: 'considering the fact K… K'walski – how can you switch accents so easily? – could break in and out of Hoboken in fifteen minutes…'"

"I know, Rico wouldn't last five minutes, K'walski would get him etc. etc. I said it!" Then Skipper paused, captured bishop in hand, and then replaced it by the side of the board. However, instead of returning to expressing his annoyance at the team's lack of efficiency, he took his own captured bishop from Rico, placing it directly in front of the weapons specialist's queen.

"Oo crazy?" Rico laughed, "Ah jus' gonna take it again."

"Go ahead," Skipper answered.

"A'right." The weapons expert replied. Skipper then reshuffled the pieces on the board so both pieces were completely surrounded, "Ey! Tha' cheatin'."

"And thats how we catch him. Rico, can you think of a good excuse for your new best friend to arrive very noisily in New York?"

* * *

**October 26th 1975**

Lola stared into her glass, doing her best to ignore the noise of the rest of the club. Yes, it was water. He'd be proud of her. She wasn't sure what it was that snapped her out of it, but somehow she felt she needed to fight again.

"May I have this dance, ma'am?"

Lola spun around. She stared for a few seconds before accepting the outstretched hand. She could recognise those cold blue eyes even after a good decade and a bit, which was why she was for once caught without a sarcastic remark. They moved towards the dance floor. Neither of them knew any of these strange new dances, but what did they care?

"I'm proud of you." Kowalski stated. It was just that, a statement of fact, though Lola could read more out of it. It was an apology for the last time they'd met. Lola found it somewhat comical to watch the undercover officers, Will had told her they were there, search the crowd though the object of their search had walked right past them.

"You do know this is a trap." It was a warning and an acceptance. They'd both gone too far the last time they'd spoken, though things might be very different now for a lot of people if they hadn't. Some people might even be alive.

"I believe it is preparation for one, a dress rehearsal of sorts," he replied, though his attention was solely focused on the door.

"You're not half bad." Lola complemented adding a slight flourish to the next movement.

"So I've been told." He frowned slightly, and Lola hazarded a glance over her shoulder. However the man she saw, the bright red hair and scar crossing the side of his face made her blanch. She stumbled, missing a step. Immediately she apologized.

"It's understandable." He led her off the dance floor by the arm around her waist to the seat she had previously occupied. She took a sip of her drink.

"Will pulled through." She informed. Apparently it was taken as an accusation, at least from the look she got. Kowalski was trying to think of a way to explain the series of incidents, as well as the fact everything was going to plan when he was pulled forward in a manner that was painfully similar to the times Doris would whisper 'shut up science boy' and interrupt one of his lectures in the only way he didn't mind.

"I was under the impression we were both off the market permanently." The scientist interrupted, finally having processed the situation enough to push her away. However, in explanation, Lola motioned behind her to where a boy she'd recognized from Will's description to be 'Private' was disappearing into the crowd, "What, it works in the movies, and don't pretend you didn't like it."

"We both know I find you absolutely infuriating which can only be made worse by your sense of humour." Not funny bone in his body unless you were also fluent in Feynman diagrams.

As was usual, the conversation lapsed into silence and she could see him scanning the room, documenting everything and everyone.

"So how's life?" Lola interrupted the silence, one thing she found particularly awkward. That's why she'd always sit in the club, because when there was complete quiet, she could almost hear the rustle of papers as Tony did the bills, or the sound of boards creaking as he paced the room over whatever was on his mind, "actually, don't tell me. Talk about what you've blown up in the lab or something."

"I assume your secret admirer hasn't given you any trouble. One of his agents seems to be in quite the hurry to report your last action."

"No, he's been focused on Julian lately," Lola smirked, "You aren't here because you're worried about me, are you?"

"If your statement is correct then Newton's first law of motion has just been disproven," the scientist scoffed, "I'm here because I wanted to prove a point and walk into a trap. Have you noticed the headline in today's Central? Miss Roberts has been revealed to have been on an official undercover assignment for Nigel and was killed by me not Skipper to keep her from talking."

"Fine, you've successfully demonstrated that you care about everyone but me and feel the need to have the last word in an argument from 1959," Lola answered, "All jokes aside, I've got one question."

"Yes?"

"Did you kill all those people?" Kowalski's face set in a hard line, and his eyes froze on one man in the crowd, "did you murder my husband?" Finally his eyes returned to Lola as he considered an answer, "Will says you did."

"This is by no means my reply, but I'm interested to know what you would do if I said yes?"

"I'd probably… Am I boring you?" Lola demanded as she noticed she had ceased to occupy even half of his attention.

"He never learns." Kowalski muttered. He hadn't paid much attention to the act, some singer with a voice that had nothing on Lola. In fact, he wouldn't have known it was the same young brunet who approached Rico's table, his target's table, if it wasn't that her costume was noticeably more ornate than the other scantily costumed women in Julian's employ.

"She's pretty." Lola commented. Unlike her when she was in a similar position, the woman seemed to be the one making the majority of the advances.

"She works for me," Kowalski replied, watching with equal intensity. Lola being one of the few who could see through the mask and read the broken fragments behind didn't need to ask if she was acting under orders. Even the main suspect behind the Herring Bank massacre wouldn't do that.

Kowalski had read every report, questioned every witness, and had his agents in every forensics team to do with the 1956 Knight homicide. It was knowing these details so well that he could almost put together a synthetic memory so real it was as if he'd been there himself that made his hand tighten around Lola's wrist as the young bartender sailed across the bar and pushed through the crowd towards the unusual couple. The positions were wrong, the bartender was too far to the right and was too tall, and Rico shouldn't have already stood up, but the similarities were close enough that he wasn't even trying to calculate a better position, or a way to get out before either of them spotted him. 15.72 seconds later, the first punch was thrown.

Kowalski's hand went to his pocket and he had just started to move in the direction of the fight when Lola pulled him back. Her hand was immediately snatched away, but he didn't get much farther after that.

"One scream from me and you can tell Tony how much I miss him." Lola threatened.

"That's a dangerous bet to make, doll," Kowalski warned, knowing all too well Lola would go through with her threat, "What if you're wrong?"

"Why would you care?"

"I don't." Lola's motive was pretty clear: she wanted Private to kill Rico and he could tell there was no talking her out of it. To her it was probably a safe bet to make namely because Rico had been under house arrest for the last month and therefore would be unarmed, but she didn't know Rico. Rico always had something up his sleeve.

One minute later the weapon appeared and the sound of a single gunshot left the floor once again stained with blood.


	19. At the Copacabana II

_"So here's the plan: Rico comes to New York, making a lot of noise about it. The first thing he does is go straight to the Copacabana where K'walski has half a million agents," Skipper announced._

_"But that's quite obviously a trap," The team strategy analyst protested._

_"Ee no' gonna show up." Rico concurred_

_"But he'll be watching. Then I arrest Rico and cart him off to Hoboken where Kowalski will promptly attempt to break in and kill him. That's where we spring the trap. Got it?"_

**October 23****rd**** 1975**

Rico was seated at a table in the Copacabana, just taking in the atmosphere in his last minutes of freedom. He'd loved it in the fifties, back when he was young enough to belong in such a place. He'd loved the wine and certainly the women, but after the blood and the gunshot, he'd forsaken all that. Still, like Private had said, it had to go down here if it was going to get Kowalski's attention, if they didn't have that already after press attention he got; the team had leaked his arrival to the press as well as the fact he'd been the Penguin's Rico. That was another thing he missed, the attention, though the experience was somewhat ruined by the fact he was more than a little concerned that Kowalski might not remain true to Skipper's predictions and not let him make it to the 'Cabana.

"Hi." Rico looked up from the table. The singer from earlier was stood beside him, looking down through practically jewel encrusted eyelashes, "mind if I take a seat?"

"Go 'head, Doll." He replied. What harm could it do? The woman grabbed a chair from a stack at the back of the room, placing it uncomfortably close.

"You look familiar. Have I seen you in the news?" She asked.

"Rico." He replied.

"Dangerous." She purred, though received no reply, "They say you're here to make a proposition to the Rats. Tell me, why are you really in New York?" She asked. Her hand snaked across the table towards his. So that was it. She wanted information, and had heard that women were his weakness. Now the only question for him was who she was working for. She was certainly no pro.

"Marlene..." Skipper whispered as the eyes that had mapped every inch of the woman's face saw beneath the layers of makeup and costume. The first thing that crossed his mind, or more like outright skipped his brain and went straight for his heart was what the hell she was doing with Rico? Like that, he sailed across the bar and was at the table in and instant. Whatever it was Rico was trying to do, that was too far.

* * *

"... I need to know what Skipper's planning, darling," Marlene continued to press, though so far she'd received no useful information.

"Tell 'e more 'bout this powerful friend o' yours," Rico countered, "course, wha' 'ipper has planned pro'ably would depend on wha' y' friend would do in a si'uation like tha'."

"You're clever; you can probably work it out." She answered, turning on even more charm. Rico had to say she wasn't doing too badly. Twenty-five years ago, she would have had him hook line and sinker.

"Y' cute, but I need somethin' a little more pra'tical than wha' y're offering."

"You know my boss would kill me if I said anything. Now what is he planning, hm?" she smiled so sweetly it was almost sickening, or at least Rico found that interpretation less easy to be distracted by, "I really do need to know."

"Mind telling me what you're doing cheating on me with a wanted criminal?" Skipper demanded. Marlene whirled around as she opened her mouth to explain, but Rico beat her to it.

"Tryn' to get inf'mation 'bout you outa me," He replied, "Seems ta be workin' independently of…"

"You lied to me, Skipper!" She interrupted, "Again. Telling me you had a plan, that you were the one in control of the Rats…"

"Well it's good to know you're not the only one doing your job," Skipper answered, brushing the matter aside, "Don't think because you're wearing a skirt I'll go easy on you… And where do you think you're going?!" Skipper snapped, all but dragged his bait back.

"From wha' I got outa 'er I won' make it t' jail," Rico answered, "I ha' a preference f' non-suicide missions."

"So you're going back to Chicago?" Skipper countered, "You probably won't make it to the train."

"I'll take my chances." Rico resumed his course out of the nightclub, much to Skipper's annoyance.

"I'm going to arrest you either way, it's up to you whether it's for real or not…"

The punches flew between the two like some kind of strange dance. It was a different kind of fight, different advantages and disadvantages to their previous battle. For example, Rico was by no means holding back, though on the other hand, Skipper wasn't as blinded by rage as he had been the previous time. Marlene watched the movements, synchronized by weeks of training together, occasionally one winning the upper hand, though the balance always tipped back to the centre.

"I was planning on letting you go if you played along," Skipper informed as his first attack strategy was countered. Skipper had to admit he was at somewhat of a disadvantage needing to take his opponent alive and without too many injuries. Already he was losing precious reaction time having to mentally block his lethal knee jerk reactions.

"Jus' say that 'nfront of th' spy an' blow the whole op'ration." Rico answered. He was on a time limit. Skipper's not-girlfriend had supposedly come alone and was quite obviously acting on her own goals, she'd hinted that she needed to know Skippers plans in order to prevent him from once again confronting her employer, but Kowalski always knew where everyone was. Well, everyone but him; though even then he always half expected whenever he turned around or entered a room that Kowalski would be there with whatever method he'd chosen to exact revenge.

It was this time constraint that made Rico draw the small colt he'd hidden in a hollowed out area of the light armour skipper had permitted him to take, despite the fact he had to admit he liked the kid, and in the bigger picture they shared the same goals. Skipper was apparently expecting such a move and easily forced the weapon away from himself long before it went off.

At first they continued to fight – they had heard what could have been a cry of pain, but hadn't given it more thought than that – however on hearing a voice familiar to them both calling for medical supplies their disagreement was forgotten.

"Mom!" Skipper exclaimed upon seeing the estranged parent unconscious on the floor. However he was stunned only a second before he saw the man who was holding a makeshift bandage to the wound, the severity of which he couldn't see, "Captain to penguins and chameleons," Skipper ordered into a miniature radio, recovering quickly, "we've got him."

Kowalski didn't say so much as a word as he was arrested, though Rico put up a decent battle, however it was quickly quashed.

* * *

**October 27****th**** 1975**

"I'd like to consult with council." Kowalski stated. It was just him and Jones in one of the department's many interrogation rooms, which hadn't changed much since his day. He wasn't thinking of that though. Constantly running the mental exercises he'd devised to prevent himself from breaking under the strain of remaining awake for what had so far been four days was one of the few things that did require his full attention. He'd done worse with _his_ Skipper, but it didn't make it easier.

"That isn't how it works here, you know that," Jones answered, trying his best to keep to the script. Leave it to Kowalski to know a fancy way to say 'I want my lawyer', "we have evidence now, you might as well tell us everything," Jones got no answer, "please K'walski, you know I hate doing this and I know you'll probably keep going until you drive yourself insane, so just stop this."

"If it was anyone else I'd say you're lying."

"There's nothing you can help by not talking," Jones removed a tape recorder, one of the objects he irrationally severely despised, and proceeded to play back some of the witness testimony.

"_…So you weren't focused on the fight?_" Jones' recorded voice asked.

"_The last three times de sciency penguin has been de bad news. My eyes were like the glue-ed on those two._" Julian's familiar voice answered, "_Anyway, she wouldn't have been shoot-ed if it wasn't for de penguin._"

"_I beg your pardon_?"

"_He pushed her in front of him, and then de evil penguin started de shooting_."

"I took a calculated risk," Kowalski answered, instantly regretting the decision. He had to be getting weak if he was already giving into the enemy, though he had to say the prospect of even a short amount of shut eye was increasingly tantalizing, "I was under the impression an agent known to work for Lola's secret admirer was going to attempt to shoot me. I assumed that putting Lola between him and me would prevent him from doing so."

"And what happened next was an unfortunate accident. Look," Jones checked they were alone, "I can probably give you about five minutes, alright. Just give me something about the Penguins to tell my superiors." Silence.

Jones was still asking questions and receiving no reply when there was a knock at the door and Jones walked towards it, hoping Kowalski would use the opportunity to sleep.

"How's Lola doing?" Jones asked, given hope by the smile on his colleague's face.

"It was literally a scratch," Roger replied, "she only fainted because she saw her own blood. In fact, she was never even taken to hospital."

"Thanks Rogah," Jones answered with clear relief, "And PJ's fine?"

"Mad as a wet hen that he's being left out of the interrogations, but otherwise content." With nothing else left to say, Jones shut the door behind him, supressing a sigh and trying to regain some form of impassibility. However when he turned around, Kowalski was gone.

* * *

Marlene had been trailing Skipper since the arrests were made at the Copacabana, despite orders from both sides to stay put. That was why she'd been in the area when she got a call from her boss, amazingly enough from the number she recognised as being that of the Penguin HQ. What was stranger still was that she was told to wait in front of what looked like a solid stone wall. However, a few seconds later when several of the stones slid back revealing some sort of secret passage which looked as if it hadn't been used in decades, the order seemed less mysterious.

"You look terrible…" She commented sighting Kowalski.

"Pick a safe house." The scientist ordered, and then tossed several brown paper evidence bags with varying dates and cases onto the passenger seat, "get rid of these as soon as you get a chance."

"Just clean and recycle, or incinerate…" Marlene glanced behind her to see the terror of her existence already fast asleep. It was then a crazy idea occurred to her, and she stopped the car.

Shakily her hand left her pocket where she kept the weapon she'd been assigned the first day on the job. It would be pretty simple and painless to kill him now. However one look out the window reminded her that firing a weapon only meters from the HQ would have her arrested within seconds. She considered driving somewhere more remote, but by then she probably would have lost her nerve.

"Options, Marlene, options!" she fretted aloud then her eyes rested on the brown paper bags. Glancing quickly over the labels told her all she needed to know, and opening one of the bags she found a hunting knife in a beautiful tooled leather sheath, though the fine craftsmanship was tarnished by more than one drop of dried blood.

She removed her handkerchief from her pocket, using it to grab the knife so she would leave no prints and slid it out of its casing. However as she did so, a small piece of paper slid out of the leather, falling to the floor beside her feet.

_Headquarters self-destruct sequence has been set to activate 15 hours from now unless deactivated remotely by myself (technical details can be explained later)._

_P.S. Private is officer of the watch and so will not be able to leave even in an emergency_

_K_

She had no idea how he'd gotten that into a sealed evidence bag.


	20. Arlene

**November 2nd 1975**

"Give up, Clemson!" Skipper shouted after the disappearing renegade agent, "You've already lost!" However his only answer was a burst of gunfire fire. Jumping up from his position behind a stack of crates Skipper raced down the alley in which his quarry had disappeared.

"King Clemson," Skipper heard the ex-agent muse as he raced out of the passage just in time to see Clemson duck behind a car and begin to fire back at Skipper, "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"You aren't in you right mind," Skipper answered as he flattened himself against the wall. It was flimsy cover, but Clemson was never very good on the shooting range, "Surrender and I can get you help." That was when he noticed a civilian standing on the sidewalk behind the distracted enemy waving frantically. She proceeded through a series of hand gestures to proposition a plan of action to Skipper, who nodded his approval.

With Skipper drawing Clemson's fire and attention, the woman entered the abandoned building behind Clemson. A few seconds later there was a huge crash as a rotting desk smashed through the window, landing almost on top of the rogue agent. Immediately he spun around, firing up at the window from which the object had fallen, which was exactly the opportunity skipper needed. One shot to the hand and another to the kneecap and Skipper's mission was complete.

Skipper had just forced the wounded agent to his feet and was proceeding to hand cuff him with little care to his injuries when the civilian reappeared through the door of the abandoned building. Now that he was no longer being shot at, Skipper got a better look at her, which was all it took for Skipper's mind to go completely blank.

"Um… Thanks… ma'am," Skipper finally managed to stutter as those warm brown eyes drained every coherent thought from his head, "You're beautiful… I mean, your strategy was highly effective…"

* * *

"'Glad I could help out.' She answered in a voice as rich and deep as the sea," Skipper recounted.

"Do tell us more." Private giggled like the giddy teenager he was.

"Golly, Private, I don't think words can describe such perfection," Skipper swooned, "I'm not really one for poetry, but…"

"Well was she blond or brunet?" Kowalski inquired, cutting unglamorously to the point.

"White blond."

"Name?"

"Arlene."

"Eye colour?"

"Brown."

"Height?"

"I'd guess around 5' 7"."

"Dress size?"

"Well I may have forgotten to ask that, Kowalski," Skipper answered sarcastically, the questions reminding him why Kowalski's love life was a shambles. He could just imagine him seated down for a romantic dinner, the conversation solely being him inquiring into the girl's blood type.

"How about this: did you get her number?"

"Yes I did," Skipper answered, removing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "and better still, I'm meeting her at the Cabana tomorrow evening."

* * *

"I am going to be leaving you love birds alone now," Julian giggled as he left the table.

"Yes I think that's a good idea," Skipper huffed as he finally managed to shoo the man away. As he turned back towards his date his scowl was wiped away by one smile and once again he felt as if his heart skipped more than one beat, "What were we talking about?"

"It can't be that important if you don't remember," Arlene answered.

"I guess so." Skipper replied, and the conversation drifted on from there, speaking of this and that, though Skipper did notice, though his love addled brain gave it no thought, that Arlene carefully steered clear of local politics and Penguins.

"… Don't be so paranoid." Skipper froze and his head seemed to clear as he heard the phrase. It was the way it was spoken; he'd heard it many times before from just about everyone who knew him, that instantly flooded him with guilt. It was just how Marlene had said it, with that kind of half chuckle, and the wry smile. Now that he looked at her, he had to say the similarities were uncanny. Aside from the bleached blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders like Niagara Falls she could be her sister, "Is anything wrong?"

"Arlene," Skipper answered, carefully choosing his words. This wasn't how he'd wanted the evening to end, but he couldn't lie to himself and certainly not an innocent girl, "I'm not sure I'm being fair to you."

"Sorry?" She questioned, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips with concern. There it was again.

"Recently I broke up with someone for professional reasons, you've probably already guessed I'm not exactly a librarian," Skipper explained, "You're almost her exact likeness. Well, I think…"

"I understand." Arlene answered glancing down at her hands.

"I'd never want to harm you or be untruthful in any way," Skipper continued, "which is why I think things might not work out between the two of us."

* * *

Arlene didn't know if she should cry with joy or sadness, so instead opted to resigning herself to pure thought. Of course, the clanking and rattling of the subway didn't exactly make it the easiest place for an internal monologue, but then it also prevented her thoughts from swirling around and around until they twisted into forms that she didn't want to see. It was somewhat ironic what had happened, but at least she could stop bleaching her hair and go back to her old wardrobe.

_"You owe me that talk." Marlene broke the silence that what little there was of a conversation had lapsed into._

_"Marlene," Skipper sighed. She honestly almost felt guilty at how weary he looked, and how torn he seemed to be. Well, maybe a small push from her would get him onto her side, "A lot of things have happened…"_

_"Skipper, I am willing to tell you everything I know," Marlene countered, "after he disabled the explosives he went his own way and said I was no longer needed. I'm not going to ask you to change, I know that telling you to stop running into danger would be asking you to be someone you're not, but I just want us to stop lying to each other. I don't know what will happen, but I'd like to at least try…"_

_"Marlene," Skipper took the file from her hands, "Considering the circumstances I think it would be a good idea to see other people," he picked himself up from his desk walking back towards the door._

_"But…"_

_"That's it." Skipper answered, "I think this is the cleanest way to do this," with that he walked out into the corridor, turning around at the last minute, "good afternoon ma'am." He spoke with flawless professionalism and left. _

_Marlene stood there, her arm still half outstretched at a 90 degree angle as it had been when Skipper took the file. Finally she lowered the arm, but made no effort to so much as move her eyes from the grey concrete wall._

_"ma'am?" Rico inquired softly. Marlene remained stony and expressionless as the weapons expert walked around from where he'd been rather uncomfortably lurking behind her to a more visible position._

_"I have no idea what I did wrong." Marlene spoke. Brown eyes refused to brim with tears and ruby lips remained strong and emotionless. _

_Marlene looked down as she felt her hand gently taken and led to the back of the room. Confused she watched as the weapons expert set up some kind of apparatus at the other end of the room faster than she could question what it was. He returned to her side of the room and pressed a small remote control with a single button into her hand. She examined it a few seconds before pressing the button._

_Instantly Rico's contraption exploded into all manner of colours and shapes, the wall looking like a miniature fireworks display, though made only up of the chemicals and explosives he had on hand._

_"Take y' mind off." He explained. At this Marlene had to smile._

_"Strange way of comforting a girl," Marlene commented, but she had to say there was no word she'd rather hear than kaboom. Immediately he set up another maze of chemicals and explosives, more intricate than the last and once again handed her the button. At the push of the button the wall of the room once again lit up with blue sparks, followed by a rather loud explosion. Immediately afterwards a finale of magnesium burned so brightly she had to avert her eyes. _

_"Kaboom?" Rico inquired._

_"Have you got anything left?" Rico reached into his back pack._

_"Nothin' tha' good." He replied with a shrug of the shoulders._

_"Well, thanks," Marlene managed to gather together a thankful smile as she left, "You really are quite the artist with those things," She commented, though also noted the blackened patches on the wall as she gathered her coat and bag, "You know, I'd give anything," she turned around, voicing the afterthought, "If I could somehow try all this again from the beginning." She certainly had messed up._

A new wardrobe and some peroxide later, Arlene was born, which was the irony of it all. Skipper had broken off with 'Arlene' because he missed Marlene. Well, maybe she'd still get her second chance if she played her cards right.

* * *

"Are you sure you haven't seen her?" Skipper asked again, his concern apparent. So far, apart from Marlene's land lady whom he was now questioning, he'd asked everyone related to Marlene he could find, and all were clueless.

"For the last time, no I haven't," the woman who'd introduced herself as Alice snapped, "not since she slipped me this," the woman handed him a crumpled note from an overly cluttered desk from which papers either leaned precariously over the edges or were already spilled on the floor, "Since then it's always been that roommate of hers, Arlene."

Skipper read through the note. It explained that Marlene would be working nightshifts and that her roommate Arlene would be responsible for the rent and such things. It also made special mention of the fact that should a Skipper, Will Grant, Diego Garcia, Jack the Knife, Lincoln Douglas or PJ inquire as to her whereabouts that they should be stalled indefinitely. It certainly looked genuine enough but handwriting could be forged or people could be forced to write against their will.

* * *

**November 3rd 1975**

"Skipper?" Marlene called as she entered the empty nightclub, closing the door behind her with a loud creak. She did her best to navigate around the tables in the darkened room of which the only light source was a small skylight in the middle of the room, "Skipper?" She'd found it strange when Skipper had called her up asking to meet, and stranger still that they should meet at the vintage nightclub, the Copacabana, at ten o clock in the morning.

"You can cut the act, Arlene, if that's even your real name," skipper's voice echoed through the darkness. The lights switched on, stunning her slightly, and when she stopped blinking wildly in an attempt to adjust to the light she found herself surrounded on all sides by the team, "Now I want to know what you've done to Marlene. Lie to me, and you can talk to Rico."

"What?!" Marlene exclaimed, "What are you talking about, I'm Marlene!"

"No dice, doll," Skipper answered, "I know exactly what your game is, and it won't work."

"What game?" Marlene denied, "Look, I only started saying I was Arlene so I could have another chance!"

"A real professional," Kowalski commented, "telling a lie close enough to the truth that it will seem more realistic to the intended victim."

"Exactly," Skipper elaborated, "Marlene turned double, but your boss thought he knew my type so sent you, her cousin or something, to try again. Well it didn't work."

"'Ipper," Rico whispered, "Ah don' think she's…"

"Getting to you too, Rico?" Skipper questioned, removing a wicked looking knife from the weapons expert's backpack, "You know about my alias Jack the Knife," Skipper threatened, "The name's not for nothing. I want to know where Marlene is now, and I want to know that she's unharmed."

Marlene's eyes searched the room for an ally, but found none, not even in Private. However, a slight movement of Rico's hand, revealing three grey glass orbs, though his face said nothing, gave her hope which increased tenfold when three smoke pellets hit the ground, filling the area with thick white smoke. Marlene coughed and floundered blindly about until her wrist was grabbed and she was pulled out of the crowd by Rico and moved through a door at the back.

"Sorry ah couldn' warn y'," Rico apologised as he led her to an office area near the back where two other women waited, a blond and a greying brunet waited, "'Ipper watchin' us all."

"He's too paranoid for his own good," Lola commented, tossing Marlene bright yellow skirt like the one she wore and a dark overcoat and hat, "Rico, get out of here." She ordered, the weapons expert immediately obeying. Marlene then, as per Lola's instructions, removed her jacket and skirt replacing them with those of Lola's. The blond who'd been introduced as Miss Perky threw on Marlene's outfit immediately taking off through another exit, obviously to draw Skipper away, "You got anywhere you can hide until I can convince him you're no spy?"

"I can't really think of anywhere he doesn't…" Marlene scoured her brain for anything but the first name that popped into her head, but found none other, "Yeah, I do."

"Great," Lola read her expression, nodding concernedly, "Right, Skipper shouldn't look twice at you as long as you keep your distance; he'll just think you're me."

"Thanks Mrs Knight…"

"No time for that, get going."

* * *

"Yeah boss, she's still headed for the Consolidated Amalgamated," the Rat reported over the telephone, "she's bleached her hair too, but that dress is hers alright, cut right down to…"

"_Watch your words_," the other voice growled in response, "So she's really gone for him? Deserted me?!"

"Listen boss, maybe if you just talked to her, y'know, like normal…"

"Keep an eye on her. Force is the only language he understands, and nobody takes the Rat King's girl, no matter who he thinks he is."


	21. Trapped

_"I can sympathise with your predicament." Kowalski answered after hearing Marlene's account of the day's happenings, "However this will be the first place Private will look for you."_

_"There's no way he could have followed me," Marlene countered, "and why would he go looking for you if he's after me?"_

_"He thinks 'Arlene' is one of my spies, and where would be the best place to find one of my spies? And also, according to my intelligence, you've brought the Rats led by Lola's secret admirer on top of me too due to your masquerading as the aforesaid acquaintance."_

_"I can make it up to you in information…" panicked Marlene._

_"Miss Adler, there is nothing you could possibly tell me that I don't already know," Kowalski dismissed, "take a seat somewhere I can keep an eye on you and remain quiet while I deal with more pressing matters. I'll decide what to do with you later."_

* * *

"Skippah, why do you think Arlene would run here?" Private questioned observing the skyscraper from an adjacent building.

"The file Marlene gave me said Kowalski had set up shop here," Skipper answered.

"And where would an uncovered spy go than to the spy master?" the team scientist finished. That explained, otherwise the kid would probably keep asking throughout the entire operation, the team started on the first phase, which consisted of securing grappling lines to the roof with the intention of swinging across to the fifth floor, which Skipper knew was the only one without either complex security systems or bullet proof glass as that was the floor that contained the lab, which was blown up too frequently to warrant any investment. If they were lucky, they would find Arlene and Kowalski there, otherwise they'd have to work their way up to the top floor office.

As was half expected, when they cut through the glass and entered the lab, they were the only ones there.

"Kowalski, see if you can get us access to the security systems," Skipper ordered. Kowalski winced, glancing around nervously, "it's soundproofed. Everyone else, let's get moving." They had a lot of ground to cover, time he wasn't sure Marlene had. But then, if she was going to be silenced or had outlived her usefulness, she'd already be gone. Still, Skipper had to know, that was love after all.

* * *

"Muon Neutrinos!" Kowalski exclaimed, almost falling off his chair in shock as he frantically tried to undo what he'd just done. Realising after a few seconds that his presence on the network couldn't be covered up, he reached for the radio that connected him to the rest of the team, "Skipper, listen, I'm 99.2275% certain I've just…!"

"Save it for later!" Skipper snapped, and a burst of machine gun fire, followed by a few single shots made several possible scenarios come to mind, "We're smack bang in the middle of a war; the rest of the building's surrounded. We regroup in the tunnels. Out."

Kowalski considered calling back but had a feeling distracting skipper at this point would create 22.9675 recurring % probability of causing some kind of accident unfavourable to their side. Still, when he cautiously opened the door to exit, he didn't see the sterile hallway he expected but what looked like what skipper had described had only just passed through. Corpses, mutilated to the point at which the scientist had to devote a decent part of his consciousness to blocking from his mind, scattered the hallway, their various insignias or crisp suits denoting them as having been a mixture or Rats, Penguins and civilians. Still, it was empty, and Kowalski slipped out of the room and towards the elevator shaft.

* * *

The subterranean passageways beneath the Consolidated Amalgamated Steel building were nothing pretty. In fact, they looked like they hadn't been used since they'd been built in 1950 something, and they probably hadn't been pretty then either.

"Kowalski, I have no idea what happened," Skipper informed as soon as the scientist came into view, "but we're not the only ones trying to get to the top floor."

"We leavin'?" Rico asked.

"But Skippah, if we leave," Private immediately protested, "then the Rats will get to K'walski first and we'll never find out where Marlene…"

"We aren't leaving," Skipper answered, already moving through the concrete tunnel, "I know another way in through the escape tunnels."

"Hit the deck!" Kowalski shouted as the tunnel shook with the noise of an explosion. The roof of a section of tunnel behind them had collapsed, crashing through the floor into another tunnel below.

"What was that?" Private whispered.

"That would be part of the defence system," Skipper answered getting to his feet and motioning for the others to do the same despite the fact bits of ceiling the size of snowballs would occasionally land not far from them, "The Rats must be getting near the top, or K'walski wouldn't risk destroying the building with the heavy fire power."

"Oh, alright." Private answered in an almost inaudible squeak, glancing nervously at the ceiling as he advanced. He didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

"Cave in." Skipper announced, shining his torch over the passage way ahead, which was now a wall of solid rubble. There was, however, a small gap only a few feet wide in the floor. Rico shone his torch into the void, revealing nothing but an expanse of inky black water, "That should be the backup tunnel." Skipper thought aloud, motioning for them to continue. However the team scientist was clenching his clipboard uncomfortably, backing away from the edge, "Well, what is it?"

"I can't swim." Kowalski answered nervously.

"What?!" Skipper exclaimed, "How did you get through dive school, if you can't swim?"

"Well, I hypnotized the instructor and…"

"Whatever, you can learn now," Skipper interrupted, and after no movement was made on the part of the second in command, he forcibly grabbed him, pulling him towards the expanse of water.

"NO!" Kowalski exclaimed, pulling back. Skipper rolled his eyes, though was equally concerned by the decreasing distance between them and the explosions. The Rats were getting closer to the top.

"I don't have time for this." Skipper snapped, giving Rico the ok in the form of the nod. A well-practiced strike left the scientist unconscious, and the team was able to proceed. Of all the teams to have a non-swimmer, it was certainly strange that it would be the penguins, private mused.

* * *

The stretch of water was fortunately not too long, as even through Rico had abandoned his backpack – the weapons save the ones they were carrying above their heads were all useless now they were wet – dragging the unconscious scientist through the water after him was starting to become tiring. The tunnel they found themselves in was similar to the one they had previously travelled through, though various pipes and wires traversed the ceiling, and the occasional rusting sign reading something like 'backup generator' or 'tunnel 14b' followed by an arrow denoting the direction could be seen. For the next five minutes it was pretty much smooth sailing, but following the pattern of the entire mission, this didn't last long.

Abruptly they reached a stretch of tunnel which could really no longer be called tunnel. The whole thing had semi collapsed, leaving an obstacle course of broken fragments of cement to be navigated through.

"Kowalski, give me a structural stability report!" Skipper ordered without turning around. He recived no reply.

"He's still out, Skippah," Private replied, "I don't much like the looks of this."

"We're so close," Skipper thought aloud, examining the wall himself, "I'll go first," Skipper announced, reaching a conclusion, "Wait one minute, and if I haven't shouted otherwise, follow me. If I don't make it, Private leads."

"'e don' know where, if…"

"Continue along here for thirty meters. In the ceiling there should be a metal hatch. This will take you to a staircase that runs through the back of the building. Keep going up and you'll find a door that exits into an office. The door will be locked, do not touch anything. It's all alarmed, and Kowalski will kill you on the spot regardless of strategic value if you so much as disturb a speck of dust."

"Why?"

"That was my father's office," Skipper answered, "From there the rest should be easy." Despite Private's continued protests, Skipper climbed over the first obstacle, disappearing off into the darkness, even his footsteps obscured by the rumble of the battle on the floors above.

* * *

Skipper was about half way to his objective, or so he guessed, when he saw the cracks in the floor. He could have sworn they hadn't been there before. A few seconds later there was the sound of metal and concrete grating against each other, and dust began to fall from the ceiling. Skipper picked up his pace, but then the floor dropped out from under him, leaving him to fall about fifteen feet into darkness landing on a strangely soft surface that felt oddly like a carpet. Obeying his gut he dived out of the way just as he felt the ground rumble and dust and small rocks hit his arm. Yup, the ceiling had just collapsed on his torch, also covering any evidence for the team that the floor had ever collapsed. Now that he thought about it, the order to continue if he said nothing wasn't his best.

Skipper groped about in the dark until he felt a smooth, cold surface, perpendicular to the floor. He didn't know how high the ceiling was, so kept one hand on what he assumed to be a wall and one above his head. Strangely enough, his hand felt a irregularity in the wall that felt oddly like… a light switch? He doubted there would be any power considering the collapses up above, but still flicked the switch.

Amazing, the lights did switch on, and Skipper found himself in the hallway of what seemed like a normal home except for the fact the walls were made of reinforced concrete. In fact, the whole place was seemingly untouched by the explosions, apart from the slope of rubble through which Skipper had arrived, though he could see cracks which seemed to predate the collapsed ceiling.

Skipper looked around, and his eye caught a newspaper on a nearby table.

"Blake Grant Brought in for Questioning Concerning Kidnapping and Murder of Edward 'Eggy' Duncan"

The headline announced, under which a photograph of a young boy was situated, Skipper could see why he got the nickname Eggy, he looked like a fluffy little duckling, "Alleged leader of the combined Rockhoppers and Penguins claims to have no involvement with the kidnapping of Edward 'Eggy' Duncan and the subsequent demand for two million dollars. After the ransom was not paid, the boy was found three days later by Captain Jones at the bottom of a pond in Centeral Park," Skipper read, "Mr Grant had no comment, but Mr Kowalski made the following statement: "Private Eggy was a close friend of Skipper's, and we assure you that we will offer our full cooperation to find the killer and bring him to justice." However sources within law enforcement are sceptical, especially due to the rumours that Edward Duncan had been used in an experimental training program during his abduction…"

The date was mid-1954, probably the last time this place was used. Skipper continued down the hallway into what looked like a living room, perfectly preserved. This had to be the bunker Kowalski had told him his father had built in case of a Space Squid invasion. Well, hopefully it had something he could use to contact the team; his radio almost certainly wouldn't work since it was practically dripping with water.

After a brief search he found the lab. Inside he found all manner of communication devices, and considering the fact his team was underground chose the device labelled 'Underground radio communication device – Prototype (not a door stop, not for target practice)'. Having no idea how to work the object which didn't even look like a radio set he searched about for the notebook in which notes on all the inventions were written in only barely understandable language. He'd always made fun of the version kept at home until Kowalski had told him it was classified and locked it away.

Sure enough, there it was, though there were parts missing, for example, the table of contents. After deciphering the notes on the machine's composition Skipper left it to warm up on the floor of the room and moved to the living area. He switched on the record player, grabbed the newspaper, quickly choosing a page other than the first, and sat down on the sofa.

He'd been there for several minutes when he started to wonder why the device was taking so long. He stood up, and was surprised to hear a strange squelching noise underfoot. He looked down to see about an inch of water covering the floor. Immediately the first thought that came to mind was the radio, which was plugged into the wall socket. However his second thought was that he'd obviously neglected to plug it in, otherwise he'd have been electrocuted by much the same principle as a toaster in a bathtub. Never before had he been so relived to make a rookie mistake.

The first thing he did was search for te source of the water, and it was rising a little too fast for comfort. He might be able to unplug the various devices, but it was only a matter of time before the water reached the electrical sockets. After a brief search he discovered the water came from behind the wall of rubble. Apparently a pipe had been burst, thankfully it was clean water, by the falling rubble. However it was just the fact that it was rubble that sealed his fate. He'd try to plug the various holes, but another crevice would just start to leak water. There were even some areas of surrounding wall in which water trickled out of the age old cracks.

Skipper was now up to his knees in water. He'd tried the various radio devices, none could seem to reach the team underground, and the one built specifically for such environments had been water damaged beyond use, as had his own. The only thing left was some kind of office intercom, but the team were probably still in the tunnels. He'd tried to blast his way out with explosives found in the lab in a fit of desperation, but the place was designed to withstand a nuclear assault. Well, judging from the speed the water level was rising at he had half an hour before the water reached the electric sockets, which were thankfully abnormally high up the walls. He considered climbing up on the furniture, but it was all metal.

So this was it. No grand fight to the finish with Blowhole or Kowalski, no last words of wisdom to Private, no first real date with Marlene. Just a room, a lot of water, and one crazy story behind him.

Skipper's eyes swept the room in one last attempt to find something he could do, even if it was a shovel with which he could try to dig his way out.

_"I can't do it, sir," The nine year old apologised, "It's too heavy. It's physically impossible at my age to lift that much."_

_"I don't care." Kowalski answered. Private's eyes brimmed with tears, but as usual his guardian remained unmoved._

_"I can keep trying the rest of my life but I won't…" Private's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon levelled at his head, point blank range, "Sir?"_

_"Private," Kowalski spoke, "You have three seconds before I shoot."_

_"You wouldn't really…"_

_"Attempt failed. Now what do you do?" There was a click as the safety catch was switched off._

_"You're too far away to disarm, no nearby cover," Private stared at the weapon dejectedly, "Well, I guess my number's…"_

_"You don't give up, Private. You keep trying even when there aren't any options. If you're going to die anyway, you've got nothing to lose by trying something illogical. Now escape."_

Kowalski. Everything led back to Kowalski, even the most basic and mundane things could always trigger the memory of one lesson or another, sometimes with a scar just to make sure he never forgot.

Skipper's eyes rested on the intercom. There was one last thing he had to do.


	22. Help

Kowalski studied the map, moving the various objects denoting his forces and the enemy's. Marlene so far hadn't spoken a word, watching from the corner just like she'd been told.

"…My orders are final," Marlene paid no notice as Kowalski picked up the phone to order another division to their death, "Savio, position your troops as instructed or…" Immediately Marlene knew something was wrong. For the past half an hour he'd effortlessly multitasked, now, she noticed his pen faltered on the paper, and the other ringing phone on the opposite side of the desk was ignored, "I see your lieutenant has managed the great feat of hacking the intercom," he placed a hand over the receiver and beckoned Marlene over, "Trace this call." He whispered, "that's impossible. Motion sensors report catastrophic flooding in the bunker," He motioned for Marlene to ignore the order.

"Is that…?"

* * *

"I went ahead of my team," Skipper explained, knowing he was just asking for a lecture, as well as the fact Kowalski had probably already come to this conclusion and merely wanted him to admit it, "They'll tell you what happened when they haul you off to Hoboken." The cases were all pretty much closed. Rico and Clemson had been captured, and even if the team didn't make it to the top floor, the Rats would still get there, and even if they didn't, in all probability the place would be so battered that Jones could just walk in. However, despite the fact he liked to appear confident to the point of hot headed in front of his team, there were still questions he didn't know the answers to.

"Do you expect me to rescue you?"  
Skipper couldn't tell if Kowalski was being sincere, there was barely any modulation in the question, but to use his own lieutenant's turn of phrase, 'it's a probability too miniscule to include in calculations.'

"No," Skipper scoffed bitterly, "I'm not that naive."

"Everybody demonizes me."

"It's not demonizing if…"

"Hold on a moment," Skipper was interrupted, "You've found his second in command?" Skipper overheard Kowalski ask someone in the room.

"You've got Newton?!" Skipper demanded, careful to use his lieutenant's other alias, but was ignored. He couldn't hear the reply of whoever was in the room, but he could hear Kowalski's next answer.

"Alive but dying, indeed. I don't care for honours; you may brag to your friends that you made the kill. Dispose of the body in the usual manner."

"If you kill one of ours," Skipper growled, "my men will not rest…"

"No, she's famous for playing possum; treat the body with the same caution as if she were alive," Skipper heard a door slam, and he now had his enemy's full attention, "My apologies if I frightened you, Private."

"Listen here," Skipper snapped in direct retaliation to the accusation that he might have been scared, "I've got questions and you're going to answer them."

"I'm disappointed in you, Private," Kowalski changed the subject, "I expected you to last longer than this. It certainly wasn't my training that failed."

"It's Skipper now," Skipper corrected, "Private's my trainee, and I've earned the title."

"It's hard for a father to watch his son grow up," Kowalski reminisced. Then like storm clouds passing overhead his voice displayed more than a small quantity of hate, "and even harder when he betrays him – I had great things planned for you. Regardless, you'll always be my Private."

"Never took you for the sentimental type." Skipper commented.

"So you got your hands on the diary. I had everything, Private," Kowalski replied, once again returning to that calm, which was far more dangerous than the anger he'd just displayed, "and you made me lose it all."

"You took it from everyone else."

"Always the philosopher. And you call me sentimental."

"Stop avoiding the question!" Skipper snapped watching the water line. He didn't expect to be saved, he didn't even expect Kowalski to stop mocking him, but he was going to get those answers, "Why did you kill Manfredi and Johnson?!"

"You have absolutely no evidence that I had anything to do with them."

"Don't play games with me, not now!" Skipper retorted desperately. The water was inches away from the electrical socket, "I need to know!" He still received no reply. The water level rose higher still, and Skipper tensed every muscle he could still feel, not daring to make any move to cause the slightest ripple, so close was the waterline to certain death, "Why did you kill Manfredi?!"

"I didn't."

The slights shut off and Skipper was left in total darkness. Kowalski had switched off the power. A few seconds later the water reached shoulder level, the same level as the electrical socket.

"Electrocution too quick for you?" Skipper muttered as he forced his frozen body to climb up onto the shelves, settling himself down so he lay only a few feet away from the ceiling. Other cases he could rest with being unsolved, but there wasn't a single angle in this one that made any sense. He'd never been good enough compared with Manfredi; it made no sense that Kowalski would kill his favourite.

* * *

"You're going to save him, right?" Marlene asked nervously.

"Of course not." Kowalski answered as he reached for yet another ringing telephone which he had neglected in favour of his previous conversation, "Antonio, diverting your unit to get your girlfriend out of the building is out of the question."

"But you could rescue…" Marlene pleaded, "You can't just leave him to…"

"I have to," Kowalski answered coldly, though his indifference seemed forced, even slight overkill.

"I thought you said keeping Will alive was your highest priority, ever since his father…?"

"Miss Kitka is a demolitions expert, I need her here." Kowalski answered the telephone's question; the response to Marlene's was a distracted nod.

At first Marlene thought it was just an outright contradiction, but Kowalski, even when thinking of six things at the same time was too smart for that, "Wait, you've got a higher one?"

"Yes," Kowalski replied, putting down the phone, "Will's continued existence is contradictory to my own, and there is also a 15.9387% chance it is merely a trap."

"But what if it's not a trap?" Marlene pleaded. She felt so helpless. She considered running down there herself in the vain hope she might just be able to reach him in time, but she knew she wouldn't even make it to the door, "He's going to drown, you can't take the risk that it's not…!"

"… Climb up the elevator shaft and flank the Rat commando, then use the captured radios to trick the other enemy units into attacking each other."

"I thought you types believed in family loyalty." Finally, Kowalski graced her with an answer in the gap between the last order and the next ringing phone.

"That is exactly why I have survived and they haven't."

"So much for appealing to your principles, you don't draw the line at anything."

_"You would suggest that I allow a spy to continue to operate?" Blowhole countered calmly._

_"Even I wouldn't hunt down my own kid." Kowalski answered._

_"Then I will probably outlive you."_

Kowalski paused, arm hovering above the desk, half way to the ringing phone. He could understand Marlene's position, preventing what needed to be done at some point out of illogical loyalty. He'd known another girl who'd literally stood between the two, being the only subordinate, ignoring Manfredi and Marlene, to defy him consistently.

"Antonio?" Kowalski much to Marlene's anguish picked up the phone. She really thought she'd had him on that one, but it was obvious she'd asked a decade too late for compassion to work, "Get three volunteers for a mission… Tell them it is unlikely they will survive, and… You don't think anyone in their right mind would volunteer? Tell them they'll be working directly with me and that there is a high probability of promotion."

"Oh, so now you're joining the battle?" Marlene asked sceptically, "You're going to put me through everything you went through except I'm not holding the smoking gun? It drove you crazy, y'know?"

"Marlene, I am many things but 'crazy' is not one of them. I have a logical reason behind every action. Savio?" He grabbed another communicator, "Send a detail up to my office to guard Miss Adler. She will be the commanding officer in my absence, understood?"

"Wait a minute, what are you doing?" Marlene questioned following her ex-employer as he opened a panel at the back wall of the office space.

"I'm trusting you to hold the fort," he answered cryptically as he disappeared down the passage, "I don't have time for further explanation, and there are contingencies in place should you defy me and divert troops to rescue Private."

* * *

Kowalski was worried. Private had relayed Skipper's orders to him as soon as he'd regained consciousness as well as command, and according to his calculations they should have caught up with Skipper. What had worried him further was when he went to exit the dust covered office they'd emerged into, the door was still locked from the outside with no signs of having been tampered with, despite the fact Skipper was quite partial to kicking down doors. If anyone was aware of Skipper's famous luck, it was him, but somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that Skipper hadn't just rushed in ahead of them and completed the mission as usual. Why did Jones recruit an inexperienced boy to do a man's job?

The office was well guarded, probably by the target's best men, but the team still took them down within seconds. However when they entered the office, there was only one other person aside from themselves present, and not the one they'd expected.

"Where's Skipper and your boss?" Kowalski demanded. The woman looked up from her hands, her eyes red from crying, though she wasn't crying now.

"Skipper's dead," Marlene replied dejectedly, returning her gaze to her hands, "Down there, somewhere called the bunker."

"Are you sure?" Private asked nervously.

"He left him to drown, I tried…"

"I don't have time for this, Arlene. Where's your boss?" Kowalski continued to question. This had to be some kind of trick. It had to be.

"Guess," Marlene replied, adopting a kind of cold impassibility that looked all too familiar, "And it's Marlene."

"Tell me where…!"

"I mean it," She answered, "Anywhere in this building, anywhere in this city… I don't know and I don't care!" Private tried to comfort her despite his own apparent grief, though he was pushed away.

* * *

"That'll be all from you," Kowalski interrupted coldly seeing he was just wasting his time. The only answers he got from Arlene were guess or no answer at all. It was all a trick, and when the target realised he wasn't fooled, he'd reveal his hostage, and then he could plan a course of action, "Go out through the emergency tunnel in the office across the hall and turn yourself in as soon as you're outside." Marlene, surprised by the abruptness of the order, complied immediately, "Rico, cover the door."

"'o seem happy with y' command?" Rico accused noting the lack of grief.

"I haven't given up on Skipper yet," Kowalski answered, "I'm not going to have him call us all a bunch of Nancy cats when he finds out we've been captured because we were too busy crying over rumours spread by spies."

"Are you sure, K'walski?" Private asked cautiously.

"100%. I expect him to walk through that door any second."

* * *

"Don' move!" Rico ordered from where he was covering the door, but the new entrant ignored the demand. However as soon as Rico saw the unconscious figure the criminal had brought with him, he had a new question, "Wha' you done ta 'ippah?"

"Get Private to a hospital now," Kowalski ordered, handing the unconscious man to Rico, and following his statement with a stream of unintelligible medical termini which the team's field medic's seemed to understand, nodding his approval every few seconds as he inspected the unconscious commander. He motioned for Rico to carry him out via the escape tunnel, and was just about to follow, when he looked back at his counterpart.

"I'll be back for you the minute we…" the team's medic noticed the blood stained hand that was hurriedly thrust into the criminal's pocket, "Are you…?"

"The kid needs a hospital more than me, and you can only take one of us!" Kowalski snapped, "It's just a graze!"

"Ah bet that blood ain' his," Rico muttered suspiciously as they left the room, his superior concurring, "Pro'ably a Depar'ment agent's."

As soon as the door shut, his façade crumbled, and Kowalski grasped the nearby desk for support, clutching the 'graze', warm sticky blood leaking through his fingers. He cautiously pulled back the fabric of his battle ruined blazer, wincing at the sight of the wound. It was worth it though; he didn't want Marlene to go through what he had, and she was right, it had driven him crazy. She was wrong about one thing though: there was a line he wouldn't cross, and that was to kill his own son. It was about time his illogical side took over anyway.

The door opened and he immediately straightened, moving away from the desk. Dizziness hit him like a tidal wave, and when his vision finally cleared, he could see the nervous form of Skipper's Private in the doorway.

"I'm a dangerous criminal, kid," He warned, "I think Private would like it a lot better if you went with the team."

"Well I'm Private," the youngest member of his adversaries stated far more boldly than his data on the kid would allow, "And I think I ought to stay."

"You knew who I meant."

"I asked Jones to tell me stories about you, once," Private recounted, "He said you were a notoriously difficult patient. You called it a high pain tolerance, but I think it's a sign of your insecurity," the kid psychoanalysed, "Am I correct in believing you wanted to be a geletenous life form researcher before the war?" Kowalski turned away from the kid, facing the wall as he coughed. He raised a hand, wiping away the sticky substance on his lips. When he looked down he found his snow white cuff smeared with red, "Are you alright?" the kid asked with hypocritical concern.

"A head cold."

"I asked Jones to tell me about your childhood too," Private continued, "Perhaps it's a psychological defence mechanism from when…" Before Kowalski could protest, Private pulled back the blazer revealing the blood soaked shirt.

"I like to think it's mostly the other guy's." Kowalski answered, attempting some form of wit, "It's just a minor…" he was interrupted as he was hit with another spell of dizziness and he barely saved himself from falling by grabbing the edge of the wall. Immediately Private was easing him down, as much as the action was protested.

"My word…" Private gasped as he pulled back the shreds of shirt revealing the real wound, "It looks like you lost a fight with a tiger."

"Machete." Kowalski corrected. The kid was doing pretty well, considering the fact he'd probably never seen so much blood before. Kowalski had seen more, with greater frequency than he was proud of, though it had never come from him. It was hard to be as brave as he knew one Skipper would want him to be. He was pretty sure the other wouldn't care.

"You're going to make it." Private stated with as much confidence as he could muster. Kowalski's high pain tolerance winced as Private pressed his folded blazer against the wounds in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"No I'm not," he answered. It was almost funny. As far as the kid was probably told, in the last two months alone, he'd murdered everyone in one of the biggest banks in New York, Manfredi and Johnson, Barry, almost killed just about everybody the kid knew this side of the Atlantic, blackmailed him and he actually seemed to care.

"No, you will!" the boy insisted.

"You can't lie to a doctor about his own chances of survival."

"Don't be such a pessimist," Private scolded, "and don't say you're being a realist, because you always said that and you're not." The boy countered before Kowalski could open his mouth.

"…"

"I want you to keep talking, it will make sure you stay conscious, and you're going to refrain from any negative comments..."

"I want you to promise me something in case I don't make it," Kowalski interrupted, trying his best to keep focused like the kid had said.

"No negative comments!"

"Just in case. I am never caught without a contingency plan."

* * *

"Pri'ate!" Rico exclaimed as he burst into the room. As soon as he'd realised the youngest member of their team was gone, he known exactly where he was. That kid could be a too naive for his own good at times. Rico watched the two figures on the far side of the room from the doorway, feeling somehow that he was a party to something he shouldn't be.

"I…" the boy stuttered. His blue eyes glistened with the beginning of tears; the pain was all too apparent in his eyes, "I don't know…"

"Swear it." Kowalski ordered.

"Alright," Private finally replied, "I guess this will be another one for Mr Tux,"

As he rose his eyes asked the question of whether he would reveal the snippet of conversation to their overly spy conscious leader. Rico shook his head, before telling Private to join the others outside, and that he would keep an eye on the prisoner.

**Probably my most depressing chapter yet, which is not great considering it's not the happiest story, but I couldn't exactly think of anything else to do with a character who can escape anything. This should be the chapter before last, or the chapter before that (depending on whether I add an epilogue).**


	23. Goody Two Shoes Private

"Skippah?" Private poked his head into the main room of the HQ.

"You alright Private?" Skipper questioned. The boy's permanent cheerful smile was all but extinct and his pale face and dark circles under his eyes denoting his lack of sleep exaggerated this.

"Couldn't be better," the boy replied, and the smile returned, but Skipper couldn't help but ignore the fact Private's earlier comment about wanting to become an actor might be relevant, "I was up a little late working on my final report."

"Jones still thinks I'm 'omitting crucial details'?"

"I suppose so," Private answered hurriedly, "I've got a rather unusual request, but it would be quite helpful in my report."

"Shoot."

"Thanks, but um, would I be able to have your notes from…" he raced out of the room and returned a few seconds later, "1962 to 1965?"

"I guess so, if I can find them," Skipper answered, "why do you want them?"

"Oh, combat analysis," Private lied, "I believe when you were ten you had to make a complete list of all the tactics and contingencies you were supposed to memorise."

* * *

Skipper watched as Jones approached alongside another man, short with shifty eyes, thinly disguised by an aloof attitude, carrying a black briefcase, several papers and a pen. He'd been conversing with the doctor who'd just given him a summary of Kowalski's condition when he'd been told his superior had passed the first security barrier.

"Skipper, this is Mr Du Voleur," Jones introduced, looking from skipper to racoon looking man, "He's representing Kowalski."

"We've met before," the lawyer replied in a thick French accent, extending his hand, "You were a little shorter, of course, but I never forget a face."

"I want you to tell Skippah what you've just told me, he's head of security," Jones answered.

"Alright," Du Voleur answered, "My boss is writing a full confession of every one of his alleged deeds from forging papers for him and the late Mr Grant when he was fifteen to… well, you shall have to meet his price to hear the more recent occurrences."

"That's impossible!" Dr Melman interrupted, "My patient's been unconscious since surgery, you can't have spoken to…"

"That brings me to the second item on my agenda. My client also thinks the doc's poisoning him. I think a more neutral examination would prove he's nowhere near as close to death's door as the doctor has…"

"Now wait a…!"

"I believe you are married Doctor. Your wife is a Miss Gloria Melman; she was a close friend to Miss Blowhole and has repeatedly announced that she believed my client was responsible for the 1966 Blowhole homicides. That brings me to my next point: he wants his own medical team brought in."

"I've got a question," Skipper interrupted, "the doctor says he's got an alright chance of pulling through, why would he hang himself?"

"Oh," Du Voleur smirked, "me and Special Agent Jones may have come to an agreement."

Private watched as the group dispersed, tying his fingers into complex knots. Finally, Du Voleur rounded the corner.

"Archie," Private whispered, pulling the man aside as he passed, "I suppose I've already consented to a sort of righteous murder, but to ruin an innocent's career…"

"The boss thought you'd say that," Archie 'the Archer' Du Voleur, once a police officer exposed for corruption by X, hired in recent years from his shady private detective business into the Penguins, and now Kowalski's official second in command replied, discarding his continental accent, "We ain't so sure the doc ain' poisoning him, but if he ain' a simple blood test will prove I'm lyin'."

"Oh, alright, but, is it true he's regained consciousness? Do you think I'd be able to talk to…?"

"Boss said you'd be havin' second thoughts by now. He said this might change your mind." Archie handed him an envelope. Private took one look at the photograph inside, turning pale and then slightly green before putting it back and hurriedly handing it to the other man, "Mind changed?"

"Yes," Private replied seeing a glimmer of hope that he might not have to go through with the plan, "But is it true that he might pull through? That it's not really as bad as…?"

"I got no idea kid; I'm just as worried about the boss as you. I'm only following contingency 237."

"It doesn't sound like a contingency plan."

"If there's one thing I've learned about the boss, don't question him. He knows what he's doing. You brought the tape recorder?"

"Yes."

Archie left the nervous Private but was soon accosted by another man who'd once held the same title.

"I've made my decision," the worried man spoke, "are you sure this confession will…"

"It'll take out just about all organised crime on eastern seaboard, guaranteed," Archie confirmed, "And all for the small price of an airline ticket to South America, 24 hours head start and a certain parcel. You know how we want him delivered?"

"I don't want to hurt Skippah…"

"Boss says you can do that or we can break his arms and legs. Your choice, we just want him alive, not that I think he'll stay that way too long."

"Alright."

* * *

_"…As a contingency in the case that the officials do not believe the accepted scenario execute between three and five of the points mentioned in tactic 4427 (these will be in your September 1964 notes). Use a similar technique to lure the target into the open…"_

Private moved aside the large leather-bound book entitled Probable Scenarios Volume One, in which Kowalski had with eerie accuracy predicted roughly his current scenario, though it was written quite obviously for Skipper over fifteen years ago. He opened Skipper's notebook dated September 1964. It gave him some perspective of just how much Kowalski had staked on Skipper; some of the other scenarios hadn't been quite so depressing, several even humorous, and at least three of them were plans to transfer the entire empire to Skipper and another would divide it in two and give Skipper half.

"_Tactic 4427, for use in the scenario in which you are in need of multiple suspects. _

_Ideally find someone with plausible motive who often frequents the area/will be there without your intervention. Otherwise, or if the target is a specific person, give them a reason to be there without disclosing any information regarding your identity or the operation. Examples:_

_ If you have personal information on the target, make it clear to them that a fabricated identity has it and arrange to have them meet this person at the scene of the proposed area in which they must be present…"_

* * *

Kowalski had just finished what outwardly looked like a blender and two colanders, but, if it worked – which of course it would – would switch the minds of two or more persons without any irreversible damage. Suffice to say, without going into technical details, he was in a pretty good mood.

"K'walski?" the scientist heard his English teammate question timidly, followed by a knock on the door.

"Private!" the scientist beamed, ushering the boy inside, "you're just in time to witness my new invention…"

"I just got this letter," Private explained truthfully, but though he hadn't opened it, he knew all too well what was inside, "It's addressed to you."

"That can wait," Kowalski answered, dismissively placing the letter on an already over cluttered workspace, "Now, if Rico is willing to participate as well, we can start with the first test…"

"It might be from Doris." No sooner had Private said the magic word, the scientist had already tore the letter open and began to read its contents. Private inwardly winced, and a split second later Kowalski paled, placing paper in his lab coat.

If there was any doubt about the authenticity of the letter it was immediately quashed upon comparison of the neat signature with several other examples of the same handwriting.

"Private," the scientist chose his words with care as he picked up his clipboard and pencil in preparation to leave, "I'm afraid I'll have to postpone that test. Do you know during which hours I'm allowed to speak to…? I mean interrogate… no sorry, slip of the tongue…" he stuttered nervously, "I mean…"

"Visiting at the Aquarium hospital should be in about an hour and a half," Private answered innocently, "Why? Have you got a lead?"

* * *

_"If the target's record is immaculate or they have nothing you want or nothing that would control their location at a specific time, physical intervention may be necessary. It is of course not ideal as it will almost certainly disclose your identity even if you do so little as to keep their attention for an extended time. The objective for this is to prevent the target's location from being verified by any persons during the specific times…"_

Private was feeling almost physically sick, and not too long ago he had been. Even in the days when Mr Tux was in control he'd never done something like this, and certainly not with so much meticulous preparation.

"You called me here?" Jones questioned. Private whirled around, startled. Jones frowned slightly, "You seem rather jumpy. Is everything alright?"

"Just dandy," Private replied, using the expression Skipper often did though immediately regretted it. Skipper used that expression only when he was actually anything but 'just dandy', "I wanted to show you something, outside the HQ," the boy led his superior back out of the building and onto the street.

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

"Give it a second," Private answered, "Here, I'll get K'walski's infra-red glasses. I'll be right back, just stay there." Private shuddered at the faint sound of the almost silent strike that knocked his superior out, most importantly leaving no mark that could prove the abduction had taken place. He took comfort, however, in the fact his superior would not be harmed, merely driven around until it was over.

"A'right, give us three minutes then stop looping the security feed." Private heard Archie's familiar voice order.

* * *

"Percival Nelson," Private explained showing identification to the guard. He received a nod and he walked nervously through the metal detector in the prison hospital. Naturally it went off, "Sorry." Private apologised, removing his standard issue side arm as he entered. The item was taken from him, and he proceeded into the hospital without search.

He'd walked only a few feet further, when he was approached by his contact.

"Percy?"

"Yes," Private replied, "Archie?"

"Yeah," Private removed the brown paper parcel he'd been given the other day from his pocket and went to unwrap it, but was swiftly prevented, "You crazy? In front of all these people?" Immediately Private saw the logic and replaced the object in his pocket, "I was told to remind you, make sure you wear gloves, don't touch anything and nothing gets left behind that you wouldn't expect to be there already. Take inventory of the contents of your pockets, buttons, everything. Take your time to check the area afterwards, you've got half an hour and if you need a distraction you remember the signal."

"Thanks," Private replied walking briskly in the direction of the hospital room reserved for The Aquarium's most dangerous inmate. He just wanted to get this over with.

Private initially started off at a brisk pace, however as he approached the door he began to slow. At the last minute he pulled away, rushing into another corridor where Dr Alice as she was known to him, the head of Kowalski's private medical team, was retreating out of the wing.

"Do you think he's going to live?" Private questioned. He was honour bound to carry out the last wish of a dying man, but otherwise…

"I'm surprised he's still alive," the doctor replied insensitively, "And he isn't conscious either, if that's what you're gonna ask. Now you get on with your job and I'll get on with mine." With that the woman left the room, and private had no choice but to walk back towards the room.

Private slowly and cautiously opened the door, careful not to make the slightest sound. He knew the whole area was empty, as Alice had demonstrated, Kowalski's medical team had been careful to come up with various excuses for not being witnesses. Entirely accurate to Kowalski's predictions, his victim was seated at the foot of the bed, tossing a knife up and down, then pocketing the object again, then repeating the cycle as he examined the complicated life support machinery, wondering how to make disabling it off look like a malfunction. Apparently Private must have made some kind of noise, as even before he spoke Private could somehow feel his presence had been sensed.

"Hey, kid," Rico greeted, not moving an inch. Private stood what seemed like hours before the two words that had been on his trembling lips from the start found their way past the tip of his tongue.

"I can't…" Private stuttered. Private could feel the weight of the metal object that had been in the brown paper package in his pocket, "I can't…"

"'t wasn' hard for me," Rico recounted with the same hollow tone his last sentence had been spoken in, "but then 'ey al'ays said there was somethin' wrong wi' me. Y'know, like the kid parents woul' always tell their kids t' keep away from," Private compulsively tore the remainder of the parcel in to smaller and smaller pieces, each one landing on the floor at his feet, but found no distraction from his situation, "Y'probably know why 'm here. Seemed pretty convenien' back in Hoboken for one 'f the guards to jus' leave 'is newspaper talkin' 'bout 'walski's confession jus' outside m' cell. 's a lot of stuff I can' let 'walski say 'bout me."

Private's hand went to his pocket, and his fingers enclosed around the cold steel of Kowalski's composite revolver, but even the memory of the photograph couldn't force him to pick it up. Possibly Mr Tux objected to this too, as for once Private's imaginary alternate personality was nowhere to be found. Even with the knowledge that if he followed the child's play steps to the letter, it would be pulled off with the certainty and efficiency that had terrorised New York so long, his arm somehow didn't feels strong enough to move from his side.

"Don' think I coul' stop ya," Rico spoke, "but y're pointin' that at the wrong guy," Rico nodded in the direction of his unconscious ex-teammate.

"Princess Self Respectra…" But Princess Self Respectra had never been in a situation where she'd been forced to take a life, or to choose which one to take.

"Y'know what happened t' Eggy? Back in '53, Pri'ate was tryin' to get Ma'lene's murder t' stick ta 'ipper. I' was the only allege' murder he actually didn' commit, so 'e ha' no alibi, 'nd the kid knew it. We' kidnapped th' Duncan boy 'cause we were low on cash, but 'walski thought he could ge' 'ipper an alibi. Usin' one 'f 'is crazy untested inventions 'e'd convince the kid that 'e'd seen 'ipper on the other si' 'f town the night Ma'lene was shot. 'walski couldn't care less 'bout 'ipper, he jus' wan'ed a guinea pig, so 'e tol' 'ipper it was safe. The thing ma'functioned, and the kid died. 'walski was more upset 'bout the machine."

Private knew that if there were two people in the city who deserved to die most, it was those two. He couldn't shoot an unarmed man, and certainly not an unconscious one, but then he'd promised, and if he left one of them alive the other one's gang would come after him. Private automatically pushed that thought to the back of his mind. How could he think of himself?

"'e knows 'bout Doris. 's a decent chance he pull' through, and 'f that happen' he won't give up a' agent like you. Might make y' kill someone else, ma'be Will."

Private stared at the metal object in his gloved hands.


	24. The End

"I'm just glad it's all over." Skipper sighed as they walked the corridors of the strangely quiet building. The remark was a breath of fresh air after the heated interrogation he'd received after Jones found Skipper there, after he'd made quite a point of saying that today would be his leave and that he would be enjoying it in the next state.

"Is it?" Jones questioned cryptically.

"Nowyou're just sounding like K'walski."

"Skippah," Jones sighed, shaking his head. He'd been putting this off quite some time, and now that Skipper was for the first time in several weeks, alone, this was unfortunately the perfect time, "where can you keep someone like him?" Jones could see Skipper was already opening his mouth to object, "You don't get it, perhaps he's insane, but he's brilliant," Skipper's scowl deepened as Jones donned his reminiscent 'lunicorn loving, softie' look, "You know, I used to laugh when he'd brag about being a genius, but he is. Look, Skipper," he pleaded, "there are other cases, other… How long do you expect to hold him? Five minutes? Ten minutes?"

"We held him for three days." Skipper countered.

"Because he wanted something, we still don't know what!" Jones, despite his intention to stay calm, was starting to succumb to the stress… and guilt, "The moment he got it, I turned around, and he was gone. Disappeared right out of a supposedly escape proof cell. For all we know he could have our entire computer network under his control!"

"To me this is more than justice, this is personal," Skipper snapped, his tone heating up with Jones', "My friends have been threatened or killed, and I'm next on the hit list, so even if I got him to sign a paper saying it all stops now, it wouldn't be enough for me!"

"Not the most persuasive argument to a person who disagrees with revenge. Anyway, I've already given the order."

"You what?!" Skipper exclaimed loud enough the team back at the HQ could probably hear him. He stopped dead in his tracks, glaring at his superior, "Now that's one step too far…!"

"He saved your life, perhaps you two just started off on the wrong foot…"

This was too much for skipper. His rational mind knew it wasn't his decision to make, it was Jones', and that his superior had a point, but somehow he felt he had a right to at least be consulted first, "Stop being so damn naive Jones, he's up to something and we both know it," Skipper fumed, "He's no misunderstood hero; he's a Francis Blowhole who can think straight."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, maybe he's a bit of both. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Now put your personal revenge aside and look at it this way," Jones interrupted, "He hasn't attacked us yet, and if he does, by all means bring him in…"

"You've got to be kidding me… y'know I thought we were supposed to protect the law," Skipper half pleaded, "Which by extension would mean we don't give up when we're threatened. You've fought him for thirty years, why give up now?"

"Because I've gotten a perspective," Jones snapped, though his expression immediately apologised. He handed Skipper a file, "Inside are the names of every law officer that died because of K'walski since I took over the department. The list of names before that date isn't even long enough to list, excluding X."

"Which is why if I have to, I will spend my dying breath..."

"Skipper, please, it's already done!" Jones clenched his fist. He had to say it sometime, and fate was practically handing him his cue, "PJ, you said you'd spend your dying breath… I've made a deal with…"

"I don't care!" Skipper shouted childishly, opening the door in front of him, but stopped almost immediately.

"Has K'walski escaped again…?"

Kowalski and Rico were there alright. Rico's body was slumped forward in a chair, his Colt .22 hanging from a limp trigger finger. Kowalski was slumped against the wall several feet from his bed, his own weapon still in his hand. He was shot cleanly through the head, though blood from his reopened wound stained the floor red.

"They shot each other..." Skipper gasped as the obvious conclusion hit him. He would stand there, dazed, until Jones led him away to a nearby room and telephoned for assistance.

* * *

Private trudged into the empty Copacabana. It was 1842 hours and his absence had probably been noticed by the team but he didn't care, in fact, he hadn't even thought of that.

"Get me something strong," Private ordered dejectedly as he slumped into a seat at the bar. Why was he here? Well, what else was he going to do with himself? He couldn't think of anything else he could do that could possibly drown out the guilt of what he'd nearly done.

"Sorry, speak up kid." Maurice answered, looking up from the glass he was cleaning. He had to have misheard that.

"If I'm old enough to kill," Private scoffed, "I must be old enough to drink."

"Whabllydowhat?!" Maurice exclaimed, loud enough that both Lola and Julian turned around, "Um… nothin'." Maurice replied to questioning glances, "What's all this about killin'?!"

"Oh, I suppose it's better than getting the third degree and talking after all that," Private spoke, staring at the counter, "I suppose the Penguins and whoever Rico was with will be after me too."

"Wait a minute," Maurice scrutinised him, wondering if this was somehow a joke, "You killed Kowalski? And Rico? Kid, you're a hero…!"

"I had both their weapons in my hands, Kowalski made me take Rico's from the evidence locker in case his jammed. It was supposed to look like he'd killed Rico in self-defence or Rico had committed suicide," Private spoke, ignoring Maurice's statement. His eyes stared off into space, and he looked a shell of his former self. His adorable naiveté or his cheery smile you'd never think had ever existed, "I nearly killed them. I was so close, I don't think Rico even realised I was aiming at both of them, he never turned around…"

Maurice was catatonic even as the telephone a few inches from his hand began to ring. The kid was confessing to attempted murder. What were you supposed to do in a situation like that?

"Playing musical statues?" Lola asked sarcastically as she picked up the phone, though a few seconds later her dry mirth was lost, "Who?! It's gotta be some kind of a trick!... Who did it?!"

"Private," Lola turned to the boy, slamming the phone onto the receiver, "Kowalski and Rico are dead."

"Funny." Private chuckled dryly after taking a few seconds to consider the new fact, "Maybe I killed them without realising it."

"It's not funny, Private," Lola snapped until she realised he was serious, "Wait, you didn't…?"

"I don't… know…" Private coughed as the drink burned his throat, but he still downed the rest on his second attempt, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Does it matter? I was going to do it. I loaded the gun myself and everything; followed the whole plan to the letter. Could I trouble you for another Maurice?"

Looks were exchanged between Maurice and Lola. Private never told a lie. But then what the kid said he'd done… he couldn't do that either.

"Maurice, get me some hot sauce then leave us." Maurice nodded cautiously after a few seconds and went to leave, "Actually," Lola stopped him. Private was special. Everyone else on the team was stronger or smarter, but they were all broken or damaged in some way. That didn't apply to Private. He could still see the good in people and always presumed them as good as him until proven otherwise. But that was gone. Maybe not forever, "get me some ketchup too."

Lola would later follow the instructions of Contingency 0342 to make sure Private never discovered what he had or almost done, before burning every single one of those pages that had anything to do with the boy.

* * *

"It's quite obvious, they shot each other." Jones spoke. The man across the desk from him gave a domineering half smirk and shook his head. Jones knew the type; one of the young investigators from some other top secret branch out to make a name for himself.

"Except for the part where there was no chance Kowalski could have woken up. Turns out, the doc wasn't poisoning him. He was in just as bad shape as everyone said, and don't forget the fact Rico went straight from Hoboken to the Aquarium with no time to break into your poorly guarded evidence locker and grab his own and Kowalski's personalized weapons," Agent Buck Rockgut countered.

"Then you don't understand whose death you're investigating. What was it they said about the Copacabana shootout? There was no way he could have made it one block. It was physically impossible. He'd lost far too much blood, but you aren't going to tell me that it didn't happen."

"Maybe he had an accomplice 'round the corner with a transfusion, maybe one of his wacky inventions actually worked – he had a brother maybe you shot him, not Kowalski –"

"His brother died when he was sixteen. Don't expect me to believe he anticipated that his best friend's son would set the police on him on the 5th of June 1969 at the Copacabana, faked his brother's death and..."

"It's more probable than him waking up and teleporting weapons into the hospital," the younger agent picked up his pen, and much to Jones' annoyance started using it as a gabble to emphasise his points, "I've got a few suspects here: one of them's the Grant kid, he was supposed to be on leave, but guess what? He's right here, and he happens to hate both of them enough to kill them, not to mention the fact he's just inherited the Penguins. Then there's the science boy who was also hangin' round, and we know Kowalski had something on him, we don't know what yet…"

"Skipper had ample opportunities to commit murder with our full support, but he didn't…"

"That brings me to suspect number three. You. The guy with the flimsiest alibi in history. We've got no record of this mysterious kidnapping. Which is why you're lucky."

"You just accused me of murder."

"Yeah, but dad - my boss - says good riddance and is happy to say the impossible happened."

"Well if that's all you have to say," Jones sniffed at the younger agent who had obviously only brought him there to throw his weight around, "I'll be leaving…"

"Not so fast, Captain. The Kowalski matter aside, you've got a lot of things to answer to. You're under arrest."

"I'm what?"

"Oh come on, cupcake, we've got you cold."

* * *

"Come to post my bail?" Marlene asked dryly, without so much as looking up from the worn, concrete floor. She was seated on the cot with her back to Skipper, her platinum blond hair as astrewn as her brightly coloured dress. She looked nothing like the woman Skipper remembered, if only from a few days ago, "Or have you got more questions?"

Skipper wasn't exactly sure how to react to the tone. Sure, he hadn't exactly expected her to come running into his arms tears of joy streaming down her face, but well, he hadn't exactly expected her to hate him.

"Marlene, there were a couple of misunderstandings…" He began, and then changed his tack, "Okay, misunderstanding might not be the right word…"

"Yeah, that would imply neither of us is at fault."

Once again Skipper was at a loss for what to reply. Apparently Marlene expected some kind of angry retort, which didn't come. She lifted her head slightly, glancing up at him through tangled locks. She could see him pulling uncomfortably at his watch. Well, he was either not particularly perceptive, or just a really good liar. Most likely the second one.

"You know he warned me what I was getting into when I took the job. Said it was going to be dangerous," Marlene continued, seeing Skipper probably wasn't going to continue, "hmph," she snorted ungraciously, "Dangerous. Sure, maybe a bit. Y'know you two really deserved each other. I'm no rookie, even if I played the part well, but between the two of you, you managed to break my heart more times these few months than in my whole life."

"What I said… I might have lied, but I thought I was protecting you… You know, your records not exactly perfect with your whole 'Arlene' act." As soon as the words left his mouth, in fact, even as they were being spoken, Skipper regretted them. The look on Marlene's face as she whirled around made him regret it even more.

"Really?" she snapped, "You drove me to the point…! no, you wouldn't see it that way."

"Marlene, I'm here because it's all over now. I don't know about you, but I'm happy to try again. Well, since I've got the Penguins now I'm planning to pull out of the whole cloak and dagger business and…"

"Skipper," Marlene was now pressed against the bars of the cell, her hands gripping the bars till her knuckles were white. Her lip trembled until she bit down on it, and her eyes were moist enough to make Skipper hate the day he'd ever done her wrong, "Skipper, you're a nice guy. Now. And I like you. But I can't stand by and watch as you bring the whole world crashing down on you."

"Wait, who told you…?"

"I don't need money for us to be happy. Like I said, I don't care about the danger, but I'm not going to watch you crumble away until the only thing left is something I don't want to see," At first, just like Skipper had guessed, Marlene had been over the moon when Lola had told her about the money. Sure, she was happy that it turned out the whole Manfredi and Johnson thing and the bank massacre had all been a set up, but the money… who could ignore a number that big?

But Lola had just looked at her with an expression she hadn't seen before. And Marlene felt guilty. That was probably when her senses came back to her and she remembered, but she still let Lola tell her. The Penguins were a curse that had destroyed everything it touched.

"Once piece of advice, kid," she'd spoken, her voice breaking with pain, "Don't fall in love."

"But…?!"

"It doesn't matter, they take the money. They always do." Lola stood to leave.

"Wait," Lola paused, "I know you're hurt by… I mean, I don't understand why you cared about him, but I don't really think Skipper, Will, would pick…"

"I don't know. You know him better than me. He's only ever seen me thrice."

Slowly as the days passed she realised Lola might be right. When she was paid the right price, she'd spied on him. Now that she thought back to it, if Kowalski had given her a check the size of what Will had gotten, she might have gone through with it. She wouldn't blame him if he did, "If you could give it all up…" Marlene knew she wasn't the first person to ask the question. She didn't look at Will as she spoke. Somehow seeing the answer written on his face before he said it sounded more painful, "Then maybe we could try. Otherwise…"

"Ok."

Marlene's head shot up in astonishment, "Wait, you're…"

"Sure, if that's what you want, I'll find a couple of good causes and get rid of it," Marlene still couldn't believe what she was hearing. Apparently Skipper was almost as surprised that she was surprised, "I thought you wanted to keep the money, but frankly I'm glad to be rid of it. Kowalski thinks he has some connections that can take over the less legal side and make sure it conforms to our interests."

* * *

_He'd found the letter when he was sorting through Kowalski's effects in an empty folder labelled 'Operation: Damocles'. It was worn and dog eared; the chemical and ink stains making it easy to deduce it had been worked on frequently and in a number of places. But what had surprised Jones most was that it was addressed to him._

_"Dear Special Agent Jones, Tim, Timmy, Private, or whatever you call yourself the day you read this,_

_If you haven't deduced what's happened, you don't deserve your job anyway. By now, due to a less than legal deal done with one of my operatives having been uncovered you have been thrown out of the only place you've ever known. I doubt you have been arrested as my Private would naturally defend you, but that doesn't matter. Consider it revenge._

"So I guess this is it." Skipper spoke, glancing around the department's bustling lobby.

"Yes it is," Jones answered with more than a little remorse. His life had changed forever the day he'd trailed his uncle Nigel to the 'travel agency' where he worked and ended up on quite the adventure with three very special agents he'd never forget. Ever since that day, the Department, under whatever name or objective, had been his entire life. He could almost say he'd grown up there, so young was he the day he joined, "I suppose I deserve it just as much as I owe you an apology."

"Chief, you've already said you're sorry a hundred times, so I'll keep saying the same thing. It was the right thing to do, now that I'm no longer blinded by my paranoia, I realise that." Skipper answered. He could remember the first time he'd been interviewed during the inquiry. He'd had no idea what the issue they were investigating actually was; he'd only realised when he was out and out told that they'd uncovered that Jones had exchanged his life for a complete confession from Kowalski, and in soothing tones told that Jones would be adequately punished for what the investigating agent had deemed attempted kidnapping bordering possible attempted murder.

_Why? You turned my Private against me; even drafted him into your little war. You cannot even begin to imagine the things I had planned for him and you also never gave me a chance to right what I knew he had done wrong (I am well aware parenting is not one of my strong points)._

_You also wasted brilliant strategic talent on a humiliatingly small position, Galileo Newton, his real identity I have yet to uncover, something I consider on par with murder. Naturally, I wasn't going to let you get away with that without feeling some measure of the pain you caused me._

"Your entire life spent in service to this place, right from year one – you made this place," Skipper spoke, pounding his fist against the wall in frustration. He'd tried to tell them he was in on the whole thing, that it was even his idea, that it was all a trap and his life was never in danger, but Jones just had to be the goody two shoes he was and tell the truth, "then they throw you out."

"It's not that bad."

"It is. You've never known anything but this place. What will you do?"

"Things certainly will change," Jones sighed, the nagging remorse, the only thing greater than his guilt welling up inside him, "I don't know what I'm going to do in future..."

_But I don't want you hurt too much. I still owe you one for that time you saved my skin in Paris. You'd asked me to save that for the day I had a gun to your head, which, for all relevant purposes I do. Don't try and play the hero though, enjoy your retirement? We're even, so if you try anything, don't expect me to pull punches._

"Timmy, we're going to be late!" a female voice shouted. Skipper turned around to see Shauna waving towards he husband. The blond ex nurse was standing just outside the security barrier waving frantically.

"Just a minute," Jones shouted back, smiling, "I really ought to get going, Skippah."

"What the doll says goes." Skipper laughed. Maybe the future wasn't quite so bleak for Jones. He wasn't like him. He had a wife who'd loved him many years and a family back in England who he'd kept in touch with all these years.

"No its Nigel I'm worried about," Jones countered with mock sternness, "if I know him he's already waiting at Heathrow. If you're ever in Wiltshire, don't hesitate to call…"

"My next leave, promise," Skipper shouted after the man, who was already moving towards the door. Skipper watched him long after he and Shauna had stepped into the taxi. Maybe his future wasn't all that bleak.

**I might add one extra chapter (an epilogue) but i'm not sure. If you're still confused about anything after this chapter, tell me in a review or PM. Hopefully, it'll be wrapped up in the next chapter, if not, i'll write it in.**


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